


Sub Specie Aeternitatis

by rekishi



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Angst, Epic, Multi, Post-Canon, Subtext, Supporting Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-06
Updated: 2009-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 95,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rekishi/pseuds/rekishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Merlin looked at his sovereign and friend and wondered what was to become of Arthur. - A take on the Arthurian Legend, Merlin-style from post S1 to just before Camlann.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"Sheol," a male voice whispered into her dreamless sleep and she stirred awake. Great, just great, out here in the middle of nowhere, with hardly even a mobile phone signal, she suddenly started hearing voices. Sitting up in her sleeping bag and looking around she saw nothing that hadn't been there when she had gone to sleep; the stones of the ruined castle were still shining pale in the light of the full moon, albeit covered in lichen and mosses, the grass was soaked in dew, her horse sleeping while standing up, de-saddled but haltered under a tree, ears playing reflexively. "Sheol," said the voice again, the 'come hither' tone much more prominent now that she wasn't sleeping anymore. Really, just great.

Sighing, the young woman peeled herself away from her blankets and reached for her sweater. It still was April, the nights tended to be a lot colder than the days...or so it would have been on the continent. She had found things to not be as true for the British Isles, day and night were mostly equally uncomfortable when the sun wasn't out, although she had been lucky and not hit a weather front yet. Of course, Daniel had insisted that they see their drunken bet through, that he would be faster to reach her starting point in southern England by horse than she would to reach his up in the north of Scotland by horse, both of them starting on the same day with exactly one week of rest for the animals to get their bearings before they started. Why had she agreed to this again? She wasn't sure anymore, once they had been sober this whole crazy idea should have been forgotten. But no... Well, they had three months. And hopefully, they wouldn't run into awful weather and they would be able to sleep in actual beds at night and not in castle or church ruins, as she had done tonight.

The voice was still calling her, now much more insistent than before and she muttered in frustration; at the bet, at their stupidity, at not having found a suitable place to sleep. Camping was, in and by itself, not that big a problem but she had been raised to be careful, not expose herself; the fact that she could defend herself if necessary was a comforting one but might not actually be applicable. Because while the travel guide only said it was 'frowned upon' for people to sleep in the ruins, she didn't quite know what 'frowned upon' meant in British terms and if she could get into real trouble for it. It hadn't been within her consideration when she had planned this because in modern day England, there should be a town within a day's ride of another, right? That this was not the case on her chosen route was, of course, just her luck.

All of that had led up to her hearing voices in the middle of the night in an old and abandoned castle that had long ago fallen in on itself and the fallen stones had been removed by locals before monument conservation was a feasible concept. Now, she didn't know if she should be worried about the fact that she was not hearing that voice with her ears but with her mind but she decided to cross that bridge later. Much later. For now she was simply walking around the perimeter of the former castle frowning, trying to shut it up and not make it louder than it already was. For the whole while, it was just calling her name only to suddenly assume a commanding tone and bark, "Stop!" She stopped, looked down.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she mumbled, actually remaining in English all the time, since the voice also had a British accent. There was an iron grate. In the grassy ground. She could see steps beneath it, leading into the darkness, the stone of the uppermost step looked as it had been hewn directly from the earth, but it also was obvious that long ago, there had been more steps. So maybe this was simply the former underground stores... She shook her head, no use thinking this to death. Grabbing her torch she fumbled around at the grating some and was surprised to feel it give way without a problem, without even so much as rust resisting her. Very strange.

And while she knew it was probably stupid and dangerous (the tunnel or whatever it was might just give in and bury her and then even her GPS wouldn't help anyone finding her, they could be standing directly on top of her and never know it), she still went down those stairs, one at a time, just to make that annoying voice shut up. The tunnel was dark but dry, the walls set stone rather than directly carved out from the earth, the steps not even dusty. All very strange. It was a few minutes before she reached another gate, probably made of iron but not rusted in the least, standing open, which led her to a stone landing...and she saw a huge underground cave. Open space left and right, down and up as far as her eyes could see in the dim illumination (wherever that actually came from was a mystery to her); that was until straight ahead she saw the...protrusion...she couldn't think of a better word, of the same stone the cave seemed to consist of. The voice had fallen silent halfway down the stairs but now she could hear flapping sounds, real ones this time, not in her mind, like from a bat, only this must have been a really big bat to make these sounds. There was the sound of metal clinking and then the voice from her mind spoke up, loud and clear.

"You're not exactly what I expected," and from above, something really really really big approached. All she could do was stare dumbfounded ahead, because how likely was it to...no she wouldn't go there. This turned out to be a good decision when the...creature turned out to be nothing less than a dragon. "But I guess I can work with you."

"Work with me," the dim glow only intensified when she switched off the torch. Finding her voice had been easier than she had expected because really, this...dragon had such a tone of aloofness and arrogance that it just brought her back up. So she folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrow. "And   what would you like to do? I won't make a good virgin princess hostage because I'm neither of noble standing nor, in fact, a virgin." And she had no idea where  that had come from either, risking her neck like this because clearly, this creature could devour her in a single bite and not even feel like she was much of an  appetizer. It was only then that she noticed the chain links attached to its feet. Huh.

The creature just looked amused, if that was possible for a big lizard with wings. "Temper, have we? Very well. I had been aware you were neither of the two but thank you for pointing out as much. I have no plans of holding you hostage, although I would greatly appreciate it if you would free me from this place, so we both can fulfil our destiny." Oh. No. Not that crap again, and really, that was all she could think and sighed.

"Forget it," she waved off and turned to go.

"Wait!" there was as much command as plea in his voice and it made her turned back with an exasperated look.

"Yes?"

"Are you not surprised? Are you not wondering why I am here, why I know your name, why I am a dragon?" Astonishment. That was what he obviously felt and it made her shake her head.

"You're a dragon. I got that. Might be you're even the last one on this planet. But you're chained and God knows how long ago that took place. You're obviously not able to free yourself; hence you cannot wreak havoc on the land. As for my name? Well who knows? You're a dragon. But speaking of destiny and the like? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Thanks, but no thanks." She wanted to turn around again when he spoke.

"So you know of your destiny," and he still was astonished. She guessed a dragon wasn't rebuffed very often. Sitting down on the floor, which much to her surprise wasn't cold at all, she studied him for a minute, not quite sure what her answer would be to that one.

Eventually though, she settled for half-truths. "I have been told my destiny was written in the stars. I have been told my destiny was to rule one day or to be the aid of someone who rules. I also was told I would die at a young age, like all those before me, having failed my task. I don't know where any of them got it from and I don't care. I prefer to make my own destiny if you please." Half-truths. It all had to do with her 'ability', which she was largely trying to avoid these days.

The dragon lowered his head until he was on the same height as her. "It is in your name. In what you can do."

She shook her head at him and retrieved a hairband from her pocket to tie back the tresses that had fallen into her face. "My name is an unfortunate choice by my parents, one child the underworld, the other an angel, and neither of us turned out accordingly. As for what I can do, I have hunches once in a while. Nothing more." She refused for it to be anything more. Didn't want to. It was pointless anyway.

"You're a seeress," he insisted though.

"I am a normal woman with an occasional hunch. And as for my destiny, I don't know who came before me or what they did. I'm not nobility, nor do I know such. I'd not even be eligible for the princes of this country, since I am not British and _Catholic_," counting the facts down on her fingers, it didn't make much sense. As long as she could convince this mythical creature though, that didn't matter.

"Princes from other countries take foreign wives all the time," he answered calmly.

That did baffle her a little. "Do you get a tabloid delivered here or something?"

"Like you, I can see the future."

"I _cannot_ see the future, I get hunches. And I'm not marrying into nobility, too much stress. I like my life. I like my _boyfriend_, thank you very much," she made to get up again and go back to sleep but her counterpart sighed.

"Fine, be that as it may. If you will not free me, let me tell you a story at least, of why I should be free again. And because it needs to be passed on, the reason why I am in here and why this world is doomed."

"If I don't, you will just call after me in my mind and chatter endlessly, won't you?"

"Essentially."

She waved. "Please, start your story then."

~*~

"In a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rested on the shoulders of a young boy." And then he told it all. About how a boy of not even twenty had come to the biggest kingdom of the time and by some unfortunate events had become the manservant of the heir apparent of that kingdom. About the King of that kingdom and why he hated anything magic. How the boy had an innate talent that he hid from everyone but his teacher. About a sword forged in the dragon's breath got thrown into a lake. How the heir apparent changed in character. How the destiny of master and servant entwined further and how death lingered around corners but wise counsel (by the dragon of course), bravery and insight won out. Most of the time. And about how that boy betrayed him, the great dragon, eventually by killing the high priestess of the Old Religion.

After a while of this, she held up a hand. "Hold it. This is...a whole different version of Arthurian Legend than has been told _anywhere_ to date! It sounds later, 12th century maybe, the Houses of Normandy and Plantagenet ruled then. And anyway. Lancelot not a knight but a simple labourer's son? Guinevere a handmaid? Mordred not any relation to Arthur? Excalibur lost forever? I have never ever heard of this! What's with...Avalon and its enclave, what's with the tragic and doomed love between a knight and his Queen, the unification of all of England? Albion." She conceded the last word as the old name of the country she was currently travelling in. Frowning, there was even more that seemed illogical. "What's with all the accounts of Uther and Arthur in poetry before the 12th century? There's a lot that doesn't make sense. Geoffrey of Monmouth, the court historian... There's so much wrong about that!"

"Yet it is the truth. The stories you know are what has been passed down and written and rewritten until it reached its current many-layered legend. There have always been seers, and some were poets. Will you hear the rest?" Patience seemed indeed a virtue with this creature, his warm breath fanning over her. She wondered what he used as sustenance, but maybe there were other critters down there. What did dragons eat anyway, other than virgins? There once had been an account of them having a taste for trolls...or something.

She looked at him sceptically. It was nonsense. But the night was lost to her anyway so she nodded. "So Nimueh was dead."

"Indeed, Merlin killed her with her own means, no less; he killed the high priestess of the Old Religion, which was by rights his own home, too. He almost killed me along with her and he must have counted on that. But I am old and powerful, he just weakened me considerably." Disdain coloured his speech and she wasn't quite satisfied with what he was saying.

"Magic doesn't stem from your religion, it comes from your soul. The Old Religion simply promoted what they found in the souls of people, while Christianity did its best to make people ignorant, thus the abilities withered and got buried in myths and witch stories." Oh God, what was she _saying_? What did she know about magic in the first place? On the other hand she was aware that there were things in the past, that could not be explained by rational science, at least not in the way that it was described. Visions and magic had been a significant part of old religions everywhere so...

The dragon looked at her with benevolent indulgence it seemed, before he continued. "You do seem to know quite a bit about it. But let me continue my tale, because while Merlin never came to speak to me again, I do know what transpired further. As for Avalon," he halted for a moment and she had the impression that he was just playing to the gallery, so she raised one eyebrow in annoyance and he smiled that smug smile again. "It is an awfully convenient story, is it not? But I'm getting ahead of myself."


	2. Chapter 2

Months passed without much incident. With Nimueh dead and the dragon as well, magic was supposed to have vanished from this realm, save for what the druids kept in their living memory. And as for what rushed through his blood, because the magic in Merlin himself was very much alive; it sang through his body like a constant melody, too subtle to be perceived in every day life, but loud and clear when he concentrated on it. The song had only gotten more intense ever since the high priestess had died and he started to have doubts about that having been the last he had ever seen of the Old Religion. There had to be followers, maybe even a new high priestess. And what had the dragon said? His powers, too, were a part of this religion, even though he wasn't, never had been.

He also wondered how much longer he would be able to hide his abilities from those around him. While things had calmed down recently, Arthur was a prat and would sooner or later get himself into mortal peril again, from which he could only be saved by magic. It was a miracle no one had found him out yet save Lancelot, who was gone from court though, but it would only be a matter of time in the end. And Arthur would probably not take well to having been kept out of the loop, although he would understand eventually, what with Uther burning everyone at the stake who was only suspected of having magic of their own...and after his own reaction after Will's false confession.

Merlin pondered this while he was on his way to dress his master for training and once more pitied the fact that he didn't have the gift of Sight the dragon had and thus didn't know what was the right path to tread in the matter... There was to be a jousting tourney in a month's time at Camelot and Arthur was, according to himself, 'dissatisfied with his horse's performance' whereas Merlin strongly suspected he was just looking for something to spend all that extra energy on which was pent up now that there were no battles to fight. Also, Uther had hinted at finally wanting to look for a suitable princess for his son, who didn't seem exactly happy with this development.

"You're late," his master said impatiently when he entered the chambers.

Resignation coloured his gaze when he looked up. "I am always late, my lord, one would think you had gotten used to it by now." He really didn't feel like being chewed out by his royal highness now, who obviously was in a mood again, but of course he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Insolent as ever. I should have you spend more time in the stocks, really, if I thought it would do any good. Now, help me with my mail. And the woollen tunic, it's cold. Merlin. Hurry." He'd been staring for a second, most likely, but how a man could stand in this cold in nothing but his breeches and boots was beyond him. The room was beyond chilly, no fire crackled in the fireplace and no brazier was set up to warm it; Arthur claimed to like it cold but Merlin had the suspicion that he used it to harden his body against winter ailments. Of course, that was no use at all and he would only catch winter fever all the easier but the prince was deaf to good advice from his servant so he didn't even try; just proceeded to help his master into his mail and followed him to the stables. The man was, to his benefit, good to his animals, took care that his horse was well looked after and went yelling after anybody who didn't follow his opinion in that, which made Merlin all the more glad that he served the man and not the horse these days.

Out in the meadow, where his princely self meant to do short spurt training, the ground was covered in ice and snow, the soil frozen and Merlin wasn't exactly sure how healthy that was for horse hooves. Arthur seemed to share this sentiment for he only trotted along the length of the tree-free space, then just sat on his horse. "Whyever my father wants to do a tourney in the middle of winter is beyond me," it was the only real form of criticism at his father's reign he would allow himself; outside the castle, away from listening ears save for his manservant, who he obviously didn't take for much of a gossip. Merlin wasn't quite sure if he should take that as a compliment or be insulted.

"Maybe he just really wants to find you a suitable bride quickly," he suggested and was shot a dismissive glance right away.

"My father married my mother when he had yet a decade on me. Just because I'm sufficiently blooded does not mean I can settle back and start producing my own heirs now." It did seem to gnaw at him. When Gaius had heard that Uther was practically announcing for suitable girls of noble standing to gather at the tourney with their fathers, he had given voice to the idea that, with everything had that happened the past year, Uther might be worried about the succession. If something happened to Arthur before he could sire a legitimate heir the kingdom would fall into chaos when he himself died, a state that was to be prevented under any circumstances. Not that there weren't a number of children that had been born on the wrong side of the blanket over the years of Uther's reign, as was the case is most noble households, but they were simply not eligible for succession, and besides, children and mothers had been relocated to the countryside whenever such a case became known to the King's retainers. Of course, Merlin didn't repeat this to his master, it would have probably really brought him into the stocks for days on end.

"You know, Merlin," Arthur said abruptly and started to let his horse walk in circles around his servant, who had to turn around and around to keep facing him. "Sometimes I wonder if you take me for an idiot." It came so very much out of the blue that he didn't have an answer. Of course, Arthur wasn't as well read as he would have expected from a Crown Prince, and he could be incredibly thick at times and generally was pretty much a prat, but idiot was far from what he would have called him.

"Ah, what do you mean, sire?" he therefore asked, even with use of the somewhat-correct title. Arthur though just gave him a lopsided smile and cantered off, leaving his servant standing in the ice and snow for nearly two hours before he returned with a lathered horse. He didn't say what he'd been doing for that whole time, but Merlin supposed that even a prince needed some time alone once in a while, really alone, not in a chamber in a castle full of people.

~*~

"The tourney's off, everyone who's already arrived is being sent home with an escort," Arthur announced when he stormed into Gaius' quarters without even knocking, as was his princely right. The old man was lecturing his young protégé on herb lore, he had started teaching when the days had shortened and the castle had quieted down for the winter, but stopped to look up sharply immediately. Before either of them could ask what was wrong though, the prince already continued. "We don't know what actually happened. We have a lot of dead people, men and women alike, without any obvious wounds, not a mark on them. Half a court is lying out there in the woods, waiting for wild beasts to maul them and if there was anyone alive still, they would blame my father because it's his tourney and our woods." He stood there, expectantly, and looked at them, as if they had an answer from the top of their heads.

Gaius set down the jar of dried plant material he'd been holding and motioned towards him. "Please, sire, come in and close the door, these old bones feel the chill more than you young folk do," even though a look at Merlin sufficed to make clear that he wasn't much of a chill-enthusiast either; which didn't quite surprise Arthur, the boy was tall and skinny in a way that wasn't encompassed by 'lean' anymore. Even Morgana and Gwen had more muscle on their bones and that certainly was saying a lot.

Having made short work of the things lying on the centre table, the court physician had laid out several books on them. The two younger men leaned over his shoulders; for Arthur some of the writing was simply obscure but both Gaius and Merlin kept murmuring under their breath so he trusted them with what he couldn't read and looked closely at the illustrations, even though more often than not, they were just as cryptic as the text.

"Wait," Merlin stilled his teacher's hand with his own when he wanted to turn to the next page. "You said they didn't have any kind of wounds, were just dead?" A searching look landed on Arthur, who nodded. "Here," the younger boy pointed on a page. "It says this creature can kill with its eyes, 'those who are unfortunate enough to be looked, upon are dying presently'." The illustration showed a beast with the body of a fowl but the teeth and tail of a snake. Before Merlin could get any farther though, he was interrupted.

"I'll rally a couple of my men and we'll go out and kill it," the prince said decidedly. "Unless you have one of your usual objections about it having to be killed by magic?" The last bit was said with a sneer in Gaius' direction, who was usually the one to try to rein him in but the old man just sighed and pointed with a flourish towards his young student.

Merlin stood there with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. "As I just said, it can kill with a single glance. I understand that sacrifice and bravery are among the chief concepts of knighthood and that you demand the same from yourself that you do from your men but if you go out there to hunt it down headlong... You'll end up killed, just as those poor people, you and your men both and... You're actually listening to me!" It was true, for once the prince looked as if his servant had said something of actual value and they seemed both equally surprised at that. Before this stunned realisation could vanish though, he hurried to add. "It's not magical at all. The creature is called a basilisk, hatched by a cockerel from the egg of a serpent in its nest. It also has lethal venom, although I don't know what it would need that for when it can kill with a look but...it does."

Eyebrows raised in genuine surprise at the soundness of the argument, Arthur made further inquiry. "And you suggest we do what? Coop ourselves up in the castle and never step out again?"

"For safety's sake that would probably be best," Merlin held up a hand, "I do know however that that is hardly practical. Give us until tomorrow to figure something out? It's getting dark anyway and it's no good hunting then." Gaius nodded affirmatively and even Arthur had to concede that this was probably the wisest course of action.

"Very well. You're still insolent as ever Merlin, but for once you've actually had a good idea. I'll prepare my men, you have until first light." He inclined his head a fraction towards the old court physician and took his leave in the same fashion he had used to enter, banging the door against the wall, letting it fall shut behind him with a bang violent enough to rattle all glasses on their shelves.

Gaius looked at his young charge and shook his head. "I don't know how smart it is of you to talk to Arthur that way," he chided and then proceeded to get the rest of his books from their places to find out how to kill a beast with a lethal glance.

"What can he do but put me in the stocks? If he throws me in the dungeon there will be no one who listens to him prattle on and on about whatever goes through his head. He's my friend, Gaius, he knows I can't keep my mouth shut," Merlin shrugged while he was already reading on. If he had looked at his teacher then, he would have seen that he thought that exactly that was his problem and sooner or later it would get him into serious trouble with the prince. "Oh. Good thing we didn't let him go. 'It is received for a truth, that one of them upon a time was killed with a lance by a horseman from his horseback, but the poison was so strong that went from his bodie along the staffe, as it killed both horse and man' so that one's out. The text stops here, as if there's something missing. Do you have any other books on creatures like this?" He looked up then, finger tapping lightly against the sheaf of paper in front of him and for a moment, Gaius couldn't do anything; could only look at this boy who was as dear to him as a son and just wonder if maybe he wasn't right, that the prince would never let any harm come to him. That maybe, one day, there would be no more secrets and middle ground could be found. Shaking himself, he reached for another book which just might hold an answer.

~*~

Morgana reared up in bed that night, eyes wide open and panting, still seeing the images of herself draped over the unmoving body of Uther, Arthur standing close by, lips pressed together and shaking ever so subtly. Just that, that one scene but it had awoken terror in her, for she knew what it had been. That had been the scene of the death of the King, her King, her friend, her father's closest companion, her own surrogate father. Even though there had been enmity in her once, that Uther had let her father die, in the end she wouldn't want to see Uther dead himself. She was still breathing hard and drenched in sweat when she climbed out of bed, gathering the blankets around herself in the frigid room. Gwen wasn't sleeping next door tonight, so she would disturb nobody.

Nightmares had been her all-time companions ever since she could remember and they had only become more frequent in the last few years. Everyone knew she had them but hardly anyone knew that they tended to become true; in a country in which it was the law that anyone who only displayed the slightest sign of magic was to be killed, someone with prophetic dreams had to stay silent. And anyway, nothing had ever worked when she had acted to prevent the events from happening; the only time it had ever not come true was when Arthur had been bitten by the Questing Beast, when Gaius had found a remedy at the last second. But that was luck. Nothing but luck. She, Morgana, was damned to watch from the sidelines as life unfolded in all its cruel glory in front of her.

But this time she wasn't sure if it was truly an event that would take place or if she simply had a nightmare. There had been a lot less details than usually, she could not tell what happened from the one image she had seen, there was a good chance that it had been nothing but her own personal disquiet in face of the bleak winter in the castle. Or so she told herself at least.

Sleep would elude her for the rest of the night but so would thoughts of her dream, for when she opened the window, she could see a soldier lying dead at the entrance to the great hall in the full moonlight. Raising an alarm, the whole castle was awake within minutes.

~*~

Merlin watched Arthur pace from one end of the chamber to the next, clearly seeing that the prince was blaming himself for the death of the guard, if he had set out yesterday to hunt the basilisk down, this might not have happened. The only reason he wasn't blaming his servant and the court physician was that he knew well enough he would probably be the one dead from the creature. Still, the fact that it had breached the walls of the castle nagged at him; at Uther too, although his father never would admit as much. "So, what have you found? Can I find this thing and thrust my sword into it or what?"

"No. Touch it with anything that touches you and you're dead. Let it look at you and you're dead. There a few accounts however, that these creatures are being weakened by the cry of roosters," there were dark rings around the boy's eyes, he had just been in bed from researching about basilisks when Morgana's cry had awakened them all. "We found one story where it was killed by looking at itself in a mirror and that might be the safest bet. Unless you have someone who can shoot an arrow from such a distance that he cannot be seen anymore."

"Mirrors?" the prince echoed and came to a standstill, midpace.

He got a nod and a badly suppressed yawn. "An effort is already being made to guild several shields with mirroring surfaces, that should offer you protection and kill the beast if you get close enough."

"Fine," a grim expression settled on the noble features. "Now we just need to find it."

"Ah," was all the answer there was for a moment and Merlin grabbed one of the books and opened it. "It says the venom of it is so lethal that it leaves a trail of dead vegetation and animals whenever it moves. I know it might not be easy in the middle of winter but there are a few telltale signs, I'd guess. If you find dead evergreens and the like, you're on the right trail."

That sounded logical, moreso than what his servant normally said in such situations. "Gaius' lessons seem to have paid off. So I'll be taking a few dozen of my men then and-"

"Arthur," he was cut off. "I'd rather you didn't go yourself. Barring that, take as small a number as you can. The mirrored shields are limited in supply and everyone not carrying one will probably be dead the second you rouse this thing." There was worry in his voice and he knew it. He also saw that Arthur heard it but there was nothing either of them could do about what their respective duty was.

"Yeah," therefore was his only answer and he made to leave the room but stopped half out of the door already to put a hand on his servant's shoulder. "Thanks, Merlin." And all he could do was nod. 

~*~

Of course, he wasn't about to let Arthur just go off without at least wanting to know how things went. Nimueh might be dead and the dragon might have died along with her - for his call had been silent ever since that day, Merlin had not bothered to check - but that didn't mean life for the Crown Prince of Camelot had gotten any less dangerous. The threats might not all be magical in nature, for magic users seemed rare and far in between these days, but ordinary humans in their sheer number and possible malevolence were enough to make him wary, as were the creatures that nature was able to produce, like this one. And the basilisk as such was possibly even more dangerous than the Questing Beast had been, for that had necessitated a bite to kill while this now creature only needed a single glance.

So Merlin rode out after his master, at an appropriate distance that would not get him noticed but still close enough so a warning shout would alarm the hunting party. If it was possible to keep from being noticed, he would, so as to not be chewed out again by his royal highness. If there was any imminent danger he wouldn't hesitate to take any sort of action - preferably without his magic being revealed. Because while he was, by now, sure that Arthur would not order his death if he had a choice about it, he also knew that the man was obliged to follow the laws set by his father and that if anyone else were to notice, there wouldn't even be something resembling a choice.

They had talked a lot these last few months. After Nimueh had died there had still been a good long while when Arthur had been sidelined from any strenuous activity, under Gaius' order, to let the wound heal and not affect the flexibility of the joint. He had mostly watched his men train and had Merlin accompany him, just standing there, explaining away at tactics and stances and footwork. Merlin hadn't understood half of it, but it seemed to help pass the prince's time and he also seemed content having him around. Then autumn and winter had fallen and staying cooped up inside had become more common, especially when the fall and early winter storms had hit, flooding the coasts and bringing rain and early snow inland. They had played a game with black and white stones, which Merlin could never remember the name of, many a day when Gaius had not been up for lessons or his services were needed.

And thus, slowly their friendship deepened, Merlin tried to convey bits of history and philosophy that Gaius was teaching, trying to get opinions on this or that, in turn he learned about Arthur's family history, his descent from a Roman Emperor many generations back when the Romans still occupied the isles this far north. However, he was still unable to tell his friend about his magic. Arthur would understand. Certainly. But it would also put him in an impossible position between two loyalties and Merlin didn't want that. And Arthur didn't tell him about everything either. Igraine, his mother, was a topic he never touched and Gaius, too, would not speak of her even when asked. The only thing Merlin truly knew about her was that she had died giving birth to Arthur and that Arthur thought his father blamed him - but then again, maybe the reason that he didn't speak of her was that he didn't know more either.

So now, he was riding after the man because he couldn't tell him he was worried. For all that Arthur was a just man and for all the skill and putting up a hard front, there was a soft side to him that he kept trying to cover up, especially when dealing with his father or when people expressed worry for him. Merlin wasn't sure about the rest of Camelot, but he knew Arthur would be a great and just King one day, a man whose main drive was compassion, and he didn't mind if the man had a soft side that confirmed his humanity and would let him shape a link with his people. But that was a long way off and would never come to pass if this snake-cockerel-creature killed him today. The men were still visible through the trees but didn't seem to have picked up on a trail yet.

That was, until one of the horses suddenly started to fall; the man sitting on top just barely managed to jump off before being buried under his dead animal. Arthur reacted with his long-honed reflexes and brought his shield up, covering as much of himself and his horse as was possible. The other men followed suit, although one of them didn't manage fast enough and fell off his animal, dead, before the frightened horse dashed away. There was a scuffle, some shouting that Merlin couldn't make out from a distance but the end seemed to be a slain basilisk, tension drained away from Arthur's pose and he jumped off his horse, obviously to investigate. This was exactly one of the things Merlin had anticipated and why he had gone after the party.

"Don't touch it, sire," he called out as he came closer at a trot; no way he was calling the prince by name in front of his knights, that could not only get him into the stocks but into the dungeon for real. Dismounting, he carefully moved closer too, one hand extended towards his master to keep him from poking the beast with his sword as he'd obviously intended. The basilisk was about the height of an armspan, feathered all over except on its long neck and the snake-like tail. "The stories tell its venom can kill even by just touching a sword or a lance, I don't know how long that keeps after its death."

"Merlin! I didn't tell you to come after us," Arthur scowled, sounded somewhat irritated but that went away when he realized what his servant had just implied. "So how are we to dispose of it then? We can't very well make a fire with the trees all around, even if we did find wood to make one."

Said servant now crouched in front of the carcass but with enough distance to not touch any of the venom accidentally with a piece of his clothing. "I don't know sire, the books don't say. Legends hardly tell of practical matters." He kept studying what was lying before him and mused at how lucky they had been, this was a small example of what he had read in the books, probably the reason why it had managed to come into Camelot and kill that guard; the biggest accounted specimens were almost as big as a man. It was in that moment that a huge longtailed weasel darted in between Arthur's legs, making one of the horses shy and seized the carcass, just to dart away again as lightning quick as it had come.

One of the knights cleared his throat. "Do they normally do that?"

"They eat snakes," Merlin said slowly, "but usually aren't this daring when people are around." He shrugged. "I guess that solved the problem of getting the remains taken care of though." No one said much on the way back for they all were getting cold, Merlin could see frost rimming his friend's lashes, but that evening when he had carried up a bowl of apples from the underground stores up to Arthur's chambers, he breached the topic of the creature again, remarking on the usual size of them.

"Maybe it was young, a fall hatchling," the prince shrugged and grabbed one of the fruits. "Your lessons really seem to be paying off, indeed." He sounded pleased, too, ridiculously since by far not all of it was his personal gain.

"Well, I do spend less time in the stocks these days," Merlin joked with a smile and Arthur barked a laugh.

"Right. Keep at it, Merlin, you'll make me a good physician one day." And Merlin just hoped that was true and that also the secret about his magic could be incorporated into his duties.


	3. Chapter 3

Spring offered another opportunity for Uther to bring up the topic of marriage, which put Arthur in a decidedly foul mood. He used to lament endlessly (“What do I need a wife for anyway? If it's just someone who's to sit on the throne after me I'll plant a bastard on anyone he likes, not like illegitimate offsprings haven't sat on it before. 'Affairs of state' he says, as if that excuses sending a girl here without us ever having met or even without us having an idea who the other is. Some of those girls are not even 15 yet!” and the like), what it all boiled down to, at least what Merlin managed to distil from it, was that Arthur didn't want to be locked up in Camelot eventually.  
   
 He had been blooded at age 12 in a small skirmish with a band of bandits at the outer fringes of the kingdom; at 16 he had led his first solo company in battle (“Because the men wouldn't accept me any sooner.”) and after his 18th birthday, Uther had transferred all battle-responsibilities to him, working the diplomatic side of things for the most part. Arthur was a warrior, down to the bone, and he couldn't bear the thought of having to lay his sword down in foreseeable time to let younger hands and minds handle it. Also, and Arthur was more than right about that, some of those girls who were being bartered away by their fathers were way too young for marriage, Merlin had seen the wide eyes and scared looks when some of the girls in Ealdor had been whisked away by a boy of the neighbouring villages or by a liege lord.  
   
 But there was no solution. The prince would defer to the King in most matters but in this one he was fighting him tooth and nail. It wasn't that Arthur was opposed to the consummation part of marriage, Merlin was pretty sure about that, it was more about the fact that it would seal his lot in life once and for all (even if that was an illogical thought, it had been sealed the moment of his birth) and he didn't feel up to that yet.  
   
 All of that amounted to Arthur spreading as much venom with his mood as the basilisk had with its breath, and Merlin wasn't the only one to suffer from it but Morgana, as well as some of the knights (whoever happened to be at the wrong time in the wrong place) were getting the full brunt of it, too.  
   
 The situation reached its temporary climax one day when Arthur had been alone in his father's chambers. He had come back fuming (and probably had yelled at his father before) but was pretty much unable to say anything; after an hour of sitting brooding in his chambers he had left for the stables and not been seen since. The groom had attested to his highness being rather discourteous (an understatement for sure) and had demanded his horse and left without further ado; Morgana later told Merlin with a worried look in her eyes that she had met the prince after he had come from Uther's chambers and not even spared her a glance, much less indulged in his usual bickering. What really had made her worry though, and seek him out even though Arthur had long been gone from the castle, had been the determined set of the prince's jaw, she said she knew that one from Uther, it was the expression of unwavering determination that had made Uther a great strong King but that was driving him away from his son. She had also mentioned something about the look in Arthur's eyes but by then Merlin had already started to fret and seek counsel with Gaius.  
   
 That had been three days ago. No one had seen or heard of the crown prince since, even though Uther had sent out search parties and had questioned everyone even remotely close to him personally. Standing in front of the King and not knowing any of the answers he wanted to hear was downright scary, although Merlin was comforted by Morgana's presence and the fact that the poor groom was still alive, as well. No, he didn't know where his master had gone. No, his highness had hinted at nothing. No, he didn't know of any favourite spots that the search parties had not yet looked at. Well, he wasn't all too sure about that last one because Arthur seemed to have a million places only known to him, but that was none of the King's business or rather, Merlin's loyalties lay with Arthur before they lay with the King.  
   
 Still, three days was a while and he was getting nervous as well. He had tried to locate the prince with spells but none had taken, it seemed like the man had truly vanished off the face of the earth. Looking at the still cold nights and all the rain of the recent weeks, Merlin feared that Arthur was lying somewhere with a wasting disease and not able to come back even if he wanted to. So on the morning of day four of his disappearance, Merlin took out one of the horses, enough food and water for the day and rode out. When he was beyond the walls of the castle and far enough out of earshot of any stray guard he muttered the words of the spell he had looked up under his breath.  
   
 At first it didn't seem to work and nothing seemed to happen, then he started to be able to discern a pattern of hooves from the ground and all the others that had since trampled the soil, it was glowing ever so slightly with a faint green light that reminded Merlin distantly of fireflies. He followed those tracks first straight into the woods, up and down slopes, doubling back on themselves and up and down streams of cold, clear water (no wonder the dogs had lost it pretty soon) and going in circles. Merlin occasionally dismounted to collect a few plants, for reasons of keeping a cover in case he was being followed but also in case Arthur _really_ was sick and needed help.  
   
 Sometime after the sun had passed its highest point, the glowing trail suddenly lost itself on the sun-speckled ground. Merlin sighed; he wasn't lost exactly, most of the day had been spent riding in circles but by now he was well on the way to Ealdor, a few hours hard riding well into the darkness would take him to his home village, but he doubted that Arthur would go there, if only for the reason that it wasn't within his own kingdom anymore. So he sat there, pondering when suddenly mail started clinking behind him and the unmistakeable sound of a sword being drawn sounded through the normal sounds of the woods; spinning around he almost lost control of the mare beneath him, only to see no one but Arthur standing in defence with steel in his hand. He relaxed immediately when he recognised his friend and made a calming motion towards the horse.  
   
 “What are _you_ doing here?” he exclaimed and sheathed the sword again. “And how did you find me anyway?”  
   
 Merlin dismounted somewhat gracelessly. “Looking for you, of course. What else could I be doing here? You have the whole castle in a knot over your whereabouts, _sire_, so here I am, your trusty manservant, awaiting your return.” And then he added with a less sarcastic tone of voice, “I was worried.”  
   
 The prince shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Well. When will the rest of the search party arrive? How much of a headstart can I get?” He moved with efficiency towards a tightly clustered stand of trees, vanished for a second and reappeared leading his own horse held by the reins, not saddled but Merlin didn't have any doubts that he could ride it just like that either. It took him a moment to understand the implication though.  
   
 “Arthur.” No reaction. “Arthur!” The prince looked up. “There's no search party. I'm here alone. I wouldn't... I'm not...” He couldn't say the word 'betrayal' because that probably wouldn't be it if Uther ordered him but, still... No he wouldn't go behind Arthur's back, not ever.  
   
 A doubtful look spread on the fair features though. “Sure you weren't followed?”  
   
 “Very,” he nodded. “I left before dawn and rode pretty much in circles, picking herbs along the way, it must have looked like Gaius sent me out on errands. I thought you might have taken sick and it's luck I chanced upon you here.”  
   
 Arthur looked at him with one eyebrow raised and clearly not believing a word he'd just said but he didn't ask either. “Luck, of course. Come on, then,” he nodded towards the cluster of trees. “You can feed and water the poor beast.” When they stepped through the wall of wood Merlin saw a wide opening, a lake in the middle of the woods, shielded from view and fed by a small stream. “I found this when we were on our way to Ealdor last time. I considered visiting your mother but didn't know how to explain my presence.” Merlin wondered if beneath the portrait of confidence that the prince was displaying maybe there was a bit of nervousness.  
   
 “She would have known and send you back with a kick into your royal backside,” he just smiled though, and proceeded to unsaddle the horse. He would have to convince Arthur to come back with him but there was no reason to leave the animal tacked and saddled, that kind of persuasion would take a while yet.  
   
 “Possibly,” Arthur conceded with a nod. “And King Cendred would probably not have been happy, either.” There was silence for a while, while Merlin counted the gulps of water his horse took from the cold stream and then wrestled its head away and looped his own reins loosely to the same branch as the other animal's. The prince then led him to what obviously was his campsite, waxed cloth on the ground, blankets and Merlin realised that he shouldn't have worried; Arthur was used to campaigning, he could probably spend weeks out here and not lose a single pound. That at least, was a relief. Helping the prince out of his mail was old routine and soon he motioned for his servant to follow him.  
   
 The lake seemed fertile, from the amount of wildlife around it. It took a while but Merlin finally decided to broach another side of his master's disappearance. “This isn't like you, Arthur. Running off and not coming back.” It was question and surprise as much as criticism and had Arthur not been the man he was, Merlin knew that he'd long have been dead, if not for magic then for insolence.  
   
 But Arthur just let out a long breath and took up a brisker pace. “Did my father happen to tell everyone at court what...transpired between us that made me leave in the first place?” The only answer he received was silent head shake. “I thought so. As you know, my father has been after me with 'suitable girls for marriage' for a while now. So when I entered his chambers for a private talk I didn't think it would be good but... He presented me with a contract of marriage with the daughter of King Harold of... You seem to know. Anyway, since King Harold only has this one daughter and no male heirs, the kingdom would fall to me upon his death. Now my father only needed me to agree, since I am of age he can't just make that deal without my consent. And it was about all I could do to leave to not ask him for a duel to the death for the crown.”  
   
 Merlin was silent for a few seconds, trying to see why this would get Arthur so uptight. Of course, he had not been positive about impeding marriage but he also knew, probably even better than his servant, that things were done that way and had been for most of living memory. “That is very melodramatic, Arthur,” he therefore ventured.  
   
 The prince just threw him a dark look. “I happen to know a few things about that girl, Merlin. I happen to know she prefers listening to the lute over the harp, I happen to know that her wetnurse's name was Anne. And I happen to know that she's twelve years old next month.” He let that sink in and just snorted bitterly at Merlin's socked stare. “Yeah, see? I told my father I wasn't about to rape a little girl and left. Don't misunderstand, I have doubts my father knows how old she is, King Harold is not exactly forthcoming on his end, he just wants to make a good deal and he wants to enjoy the protection and wealth of Camelot for himself as much as he wants to get rid of his daughter, who is of no use to him. I swear to you, Merlin, if I ever have a daughter I will not do that to her, I will treat her properly.”  
   
 “I know, Arthur. You will be a great King one day and a great man.” And he meant it with every fibre of his being. Maybe that was what the dragon had meant when he had spoken of destiny all those times and when he had said it was a shared one between them. Because Merlin knew he would do everything he possibly could for Arthur to be just that. Arthur Pendragon was destined for greatness...but for that he would have to return to Camelot.  
   
 The prince shook his head. “You seem to have said something like that before. I don't know where you get that from but I thank you for your confidence anyway.” He stared wistfully over the lake. “I will have to go back soon.” He knew that. He knew his future lay in Camelot and what all that meant. That didn't mean he always had to like all the details of it. One of the few things he did know about his mother that she had loved his father and his father had loved her. That theirs had not been a marriage born from contracts and as a question of territory but of genuine feeling. Arthur wasn't young or dumb enough to expect the same for himself, that was for maidens listening to minstrels, all he asked for was a word in the matter and as long as his father couldn't see that there was nothing he could do. “You can go back and tell my father I won't submit to being treated like that,” he added after a while. “I'll return later tonight.”  
   
 When he looked over however, Merlin had paled to the colour of milk. “My lord, if I tell that to your father, he'll have my head on a platter by dinnertime.” Well, yes, his father was not quite as lenient with insolence as he was, but Merlin seemed to have a special role even where his father was concerned.  
   
 Still, he agreed silently, maybe with Uther's current rage he shouldn't risk it. He laughed, threw an arm around his friend's shoulders and said in his best princely voice, “Well then, lead on my servant!”  
   


~*~

  
 He had left Arthur to pack up the campsite and would return about an hour before the prince; they had agreed it might be of advantage to circumvent any plans of decapitation Uther might have by not returning at the same time. He had met Gwen outside the walls where she was picking spring flowers to decorate Morgana's chambers with (“Better than sprinkling herbs on the rushes,” or so she said) and that helped, too, dismissing any suspicions anyone could have had as to Merlin's whereabouts that day.  
   
 When the prince arrived, sitting high on his horse and acting with the aloof arrogance that was partly expected of him, the castle started to really come alive. Everyone was talking, all candles were lit. Gaius let him know exactly what he thought about going off and not telling anyone of what he had found out but also congratulated him on bringing the 'stubborn boy' back home.  
   
 A lot of yelling could be heard from the King's chambers that night, so much that even Morgana made sympathetic remarks for Arthur when she and Gwen stopped by his chambers, where Merlin was waiting but couldn't tell them any more.  
   
 The prince himself came back when most of the castle was already asleep and Merlin, too, was getting more than sleepy sitting at Arthur's table reading by candlelight. Then the door opened however and Arthur stepped in quietly and he looked as old beyond his years as he did when he talked about his father's hatred of magic and of how many sorcerers and other magic users he had seen burnt or beheaded or killed in any other manner in his life already. He sat down opposite his servant and scrubbed one hand down over his face and there was no sound but the banked fire falling in on itself for a while yet.  
   
 “I think if my father had another legitimate heir, I'd be sacked by now,” Arthur finally said tiredly and grabbed for the mug of wine Merlin was shoving towards him.  
   
 “That means you're okay?”  
   
 He shrugged. “My father can't possibly admit he was in the wrong, he is the King after all. It's his prerogative to be right. I suppose though he has called the contract off and given King Harold a piece of his mind by now, too, although of course politely expressed so as to not cause a war. I'm banned from hunting until further notice, though,” a humourless grin followed that and Merlin knew it would be a short night for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the same lake that we saw in 'The Gates of Avalon'.


	4. Chapter 4

Fall eventually turned into winter and the coastal villages were safe for a few months. The first frost that kept all day was upon them the day they were supposed to ride into Camelot. They were still a few hours out but had stopped to water the horses, fill up their own water bladders and eat some of their rations and Arthur was in a good mood. At least until suddenly someone broke through the bushes on the other side of the small stream and landed at his feet. His horse stepped a nervous step back and two of his men stood in front of him, swords drawn.  
   
 "Hold it," he commanded and stepped around them as he realised that this someone was a girl. She looked up at him with big eyes, wide open with fear, her face dirty with tears and scratched from vegetation; her clothes were soaked from kneeling in the stream, her feet bare. "Merlin!" he called but his servant was already next to him, crouching down.  
   
 The girl shied away from him but Merlin started murmuring quietly, soothing words meant to calm her down and she actually let him touch her, help her out of the water. Then, suddenly, there was more ruckus across the stream, and a dark-haired youth appeared from where the girl had come from too, looking around with some confusion. At least until his eyes fell on Arthur, who bit his lip and would have loved to bury his face in his hands. It was not to be, though. "Cousin! Such a coincidence to meet you here! Your father told us you were out fighting barbarians." Every pair of eyes in earshot was turning towards them, curious stares from all direction.  
   
 "Cousin Culhwch, what a pleasure to see you again after all this time. We were indeed at the coast, beating off the Normans. What brings you here, are you visiting?" He really hoped that no one but maybe Merlin, who stood closest with only half an eye on him, could hear the grinding of teeth that followed this greeting.  
   
 "We are, father intends to marry again next year and chose to deliver the invitation to the King in person. And- Oh! You found her!" Culhwch jumped over the water and stretched out an arm towards the girl, hand clamping on her arm and it looked hard enough to bruise. Arthur looked at Merlin warningly and slung an arm around his cousin's shoulders.  
   
 "Who is the girl, dear cousin?" he had hoped he would let go of the girl but the boy wound an arms around her hips and squeezed her bottom.  
   
 "This is my personal laundress, Mary. Aren't you, eh, Mary?" She had paled so much that she was the colour of milk, her dark eyes luminous in her face, so scared that it wrenched at Arthur's heart, knowing she was much more than just a 'laundress'. There was nothing he could do though, nothing at all.  
   
 "Yes my lord," she murmured quietly. Neither of them was saying a word of why she was running barefoot through the winter woods, hours away from the castle. Arthur could feel Merlin's eyes on him when he mounted his horse again and let one of the spare ones bring for Culhwch, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

~*~

 Their return to Camelot that day ended in a feast, Uther glad his son was back, Culhwch's father Cilydd glad that the cousins seemed to get along so well. Merlin stood, again in full livery, at attention serving his master until he had enough and excused himself for the night, claiming tiredness after the long day's ride.  
   
 "She was running away from him," Merlin whispered agitatedly as they walked up to Arthur's chambers. "And I would bet he's taking her forcibly whenever he pleases."  
   
 "I know. I can't do anything about it though." Culhwch was a child controlled by impulses still, there was no rational talking with him. And Cilydd? Forget it, that man had more bastards than there were people living in Camelot.  
   
 "But it's not right! You're the crown prince, Arthur, you have to do something!" They were in his chambers now, otherwise this explosion would have likely ended badly, and Merlin was pacing.  
   
 Arthur extended a hand and stopped him, putting both hands on his shoulders and looking intently at him. "Merlin. Do you take me for a coward?"  
   
 "No," the answer was immediate and it pleased him immensely, "you're the bravest man I know."  
   
 "Then believe me when I say if I could do anything, I would. But I can't. She's a servant, he doesn't have to treat her right," he let go of the other man and kicked a chair aside. "Culhwch is an idiot and he always will be and I would offer him all the swords in the kingdom if that would let me get rid of him. With any luck he will tire of her soon and she can continue as just a servant then."  
   
 "I wonder if she has any family that would take her in," Merlin said wistfully and it made the prince turn around because he knew that tone of voice. Meanwhile his servant was kneeling in front of the fireplace, banking it for the night.  
   
 "Merlin," he said and waited for him to look up. "Don't do anything that can get you into trouble. My father will not forgive any interference is such delicate matters. I'd hate to see you dead, I still have need for you."  
   
 "Of course, Arthur," Merlin answered but knew at the same time that sleep would elude him that night.

~*~

 Merlin caught up with Gwen and Morgana the next morning in the courtyard on his way to deliver some of Gaius' potions. Their faces were earnest and they greeted him somewhat close-lipped. "What's the matter?" he asked and rubbed his eyes, he had gotten not a minute's worth of sleep.  
   
 Both women were silent for a few seconds. "Have you seen that 'laundress' of Culhwch's?" Gwen finally asked and she practically spat the name, albeit in an undertone.  
   
 "Yeah. You...you know about it?"  
   
 "You'd have to be deaf and blind not to know, Merlin," Morgana sighed and glowered in a rather un-ladylike way. "He gloats about it, too, how he brought her with him from up north. You were gone already last night, and be glad of it. I wanted to really hurt him."  
   
 "What did he say?" Merlin wondered if Arthur might have let etiquette be etiquette and delivered to his cousin the beating he obviously deserved.  
   
 "How he 'found something of hers at the beach and then hired her as a laundress, you know, as a laundress'! And then he winked to all the men in the room and made one really indecent move with his hips," Gwen looked behind them to make sure no one was in earshot, even though she'd only whispered it. "That he hasn't gotten the poor girl with child yet is a miracle."  
   
 Morgana looked at her friend and nodded. "She wouldn't even talk to us, we tried."  
   
 "I wondered if she had any family that would take her in if she got away," Merlin confided.  
   
 "So did we, but well, for one she isn't talking. And secondly... I have a feeling Uther wouldn't take well to people stealing his nephew's playthings." Morgana was saying it in a somewhat more careful fashion but the heart of it was the same as what Arthur had said the night before, so Merlin just nodded and went to deliver his potions.  
   
 Gwen looked after him for a moment. "Think he'll try anything?"  
   
 "I hope Arthur has enough sense in him to make the consequences clear to that...muddlehead," her friend answered.  
   
 "And since when does Merlin ever listen to anything that his highness says?" They grinned at each other for a moment, despite the direness of the situation. It was by now an old joke, whatever the prince said, his servant would do something more the opposite of it. This time however, the comedic effect was somewhat spoiled by the looming consequences. 

~*~

 Cilydd and his son had been visiting for two months now, and if Arthur had to listen to one more description of Culhwch's sexual encounters with anyone, he would have to castrate him, blood ties or no. At first he had taken to hiding out with the horses but the boy had figured that out pretty quick so now he needed a new place. He actually had considered keeping Morgana company but she might have murdered him if Culhwch found him there and kept chattering at her, too. Consequently, he now opened Gaius' door and saw the old physician writing on a parchment and Merlin sorting some things on a table.  
   
 "Your highness?" Gaius implored but Arthur just stepped into the room and let the door fall shut.  
   
 "My wound is itching. The one I got at the coast." Merlin looked at him dubiously, he just could see what was going through his head. The wound had healed up fine and was nothing more than a pink scar anymore. Gaius didn't seem entirely convinced either.  
   
 "Scars itch sometimes, especially fresh ones," he went back to his writing. "If you want to hide from your cousin, join Merlin at sorting supplies, guess why that boy is here doing his work most dutifully for once?"  
   
 Arthur grinned at the rebuff, Merlin rolled his eyes and waved him over, far away from any window. A few minutes passed in which Arthur tried, without much luck, to decipher the handwriting of the two men living there, when there was a quiet knock at the door. Before the prince could take a breath, the old man waved him off. "I know, you're not here."  
   
 He opened the door just a little to check, then his expression changed and Culhwch's serving girl stepped into the room, head bowed and eyes lowered to the floor. The two younger men put down the jars they had been holding and just stared. No one had seen much of her in the last few weeks, Culhwch was keeping her extremely 'occupied', especially after he'd seen Gwen trying to talk to her several times. The physician motioned for them to keep quiet and stay back, then tried to take her arm but she flinched. So he just said, "Come in, child, sit down. What can I do for you?"  
   
 She looked up then, at her surroundings and seemed to take the first deep breath since that time at the stream. "I need back what he stole from me," her voice was clear as a bell, beneath all that huskiness that came with disuse. "Please! Without it, I can't go back and... I can't stay here."  
   
 Arthur frowned. He wanted to help her, yet he knew he couldn't. Still... "What did he steal from you?"  
   
 She looked at him then, and he didn't have another word for it than 'belligerent'. "My skin."  
   
 "Your skin?" Merlin echoed, just as baffled as his master.  
   
 She nodded, still looking at them. "You can get it. I know you can! You're the only one I ever found who can. Please!" And then she had already turned around and was out of the door.  
   
 There was a short silence, which was broken when Arthur cleared his throat. "Maybe she's gone mad?" at which Gaius nodded. Merlin only frowned.  
   
 "Gwen said he claimed to have brought her from up north," he muttered. Arthur looked at him quizzically, so he clarified, told them what Gwen had said to him the morning after the feast.  
   
 "So?" the prince didn't understand. He went back to sorting through the jars, while Merlin went to the shelf of books, frown still on his face. Arthur shrugged, lifted another jar. "Gaius, has anyone ever told you that your handwriting is truly atrocious?"  
   
 More than a bell passed before Merlin made a sound again, and then it was one of disbelief. "Arthur, your cousin is a cruel person." The prince looked up and sighed, since this was nothing new for him. "No, listen. I think. I don't think that girl is truly mad."  
   
 Gaius looked up from his writing again and motioned to go on. "There is... It's not exactly a myth, I suppose. These are stories from the Orkneys but there seem to be telling of this further south as well, of selkies. People who have two skins, one is that of a human and the other is that of a seal. The book says they're very beautiful and men often try to steal the skins because the women are then forced to do their every whim, often never finding their skins again. What if your cousin...?" Arthur was already leaning over his shoulder, reading for himself, then banged one fist against the wall, so hard that the stone shook.  
   
 "I'll stuff a goose up his ass, so far that the head will come out from his mouth!" he yelled and made his way to the door. Merlin opened his eyes in shock and held the door shut with his magic. It was dangerous to use it so close to Arthur but...  
   
 "Arthur!"  
   
 "What?"  
   
 "What," he made an all-encompassing gesture. "What do you want to do?"  
   
 The look in the prince's eyes was irritated. "Call him on it, of course, what else am I to do?"  
   
 "Oh yes, that will go over real well! 'Oh hey, Culhwch, by the by, did you steal a seal skin and keep the girl it belongs to for your pleasure now?' And what if the King hears of that, he'll think she is a sorceress or a witch or something and have her burned at the stake tonight!" They were both standing now, chair knocked over and screaming at each other, glowering.  
   
 It was Gaius who stepped between them. "Boys. Really, that takes us nowhere." Arthur was the first to stand straight, as if he suddenly remembered his station again. Merlin shook his head and rightened the chair.  
   
 "So what do we do?" the prince asked.  
   
 "We get her her skin back, of course," Merlin answered, smiling. 

~*~

 It was another month before there was any chance to do something about it, though. In the meantime, Arthur made sure to get his cousin drunk almost every night, hoping to spare the girl too many encounters with him. More often than not though, that resulted in he himself being tanked up (the morning dialogue he had with Merlin after that was almost ritualistic after the first week "This hangover is killing me!" - "We were supposed to get _him_ drunk, not yourself." - "Oh and what loss is it of yours, you're getting a free evening out of it." - "And who do you think carries your drunken arse to bed afterwards?").  
   
 But winter was slowly retreating and Cilydd was preparing to go back home while Arthur simultaneously was putting together a new campaign to ride up and down the coast, worrying that the Normans might come back again after the bleak winter.  
   
 The night before Culhwch would take his leave together with his father, the King had announced one last feast, to wish farewell as much as welcome spring just around the corner.  
   
 Merlin poured wine in streams into Arthur's cup, diluted so much that the prince would complain bitterly later, but it ensured that he seemed to drink a lot while actually keeping a clear head. The fact that Arthur was, if he wanted, a born actor played into their hands, with his portrayal of drunken idiocy he made Morgana roll her eyes and Uther hold only barely to his countenance. After a few hours, he finally waved his son away, prodded and talked to by his servant, while Culhwch was still drinking merrily and telling his stories, for the probably hundredth time (it had cost Arthur a lot of self-restraint not to make either of his threats reality).  
   
 But now they were out of the hall and hurrying to the guest quarters. "My father will think I have turned perpetually drunk after the last few weeks," the prince mumbled and elbowed his servant hard in the ribs when he saw the smirk on his face. "The stocks for you, starting after this madness is over." But there wasn't any real heat in the threat.  
   
 They arrived in front of Culhwch's door in a matter of minutes and Arthur made to open it, when he noticed the finger-hole had been blocked with resin. "What... Oh this sneaky little weasel. And he even has a lock?" Merlin looked at him.  
   
 "He knows she'll be up and gone if she ever finds her skin. Here, let me," he retrieved a wooden pin from his pocket. The prince just stared at him with obvious doubt but stepped aside, there was no time for discussions. Merlin stuck the pin in the locking mechanism and prodded around some, holding it in place with his left hand and concentrated on it. He felt more than heard the whatever it was in there slide into place and then the door was open already and he got back up. Arthur looked up and down the hall once more, then slipped around him into the room.  
   
 Nothing was packed yet and Merlin positively thought that the boy's servants must despair over him, more so than he did over Arthur. The prince nodded at him to take the right side of the room, he himself taking the left.  
   
 "How do I know if I found it?" Merlin murmured and rummaged in a chest.  
   
 "Have you never seen a seal?" Arthur answered just as quietly while he pulled the blanket off the bed and even lifted the mattress.  
   
 "I didn't grow up by the sea Arthur and we were not in the habit of long travels. If you want to eat in winter you need to grow things in summer." Arthur paused for a moment and looked over, meeting the other man's eyes.  
   
 "Seals are grey-ish, sometimes their fur looks blue, too. They're usually speckled. The fur also is extremely soft but only if you stroke it in one direction, in the other it bristles against your fingers. You'll know when you find it." The bed hadn't yielded anything so he proceeded to the chest next to it, which bore another lock. "Can you pick this, too?" he motioned and they traded places.  
   
 The lock clicked open after a few seconds and Merlin stuck his hand in it. The chest was stuffed though and he had to get most of the things (linens mostly, and he didn't want to think about if they had been worn or not) out to at least get an idea of what was in there. In one of the corners shimmered something light grey...although he thought it was much too small to be the skin. It was kind of a package though and when he shook it out it did seem pretty big. "Arthur?" he held it up and the prince's face split into a huge grin.  
   
 "Great! Fold it up and-"  
   
 "We need to get this back in order, else he'll notice."  
   
 "With the chaos that the room was in?" the prince looked incredulous.  
   
 Merlin shook his head. "Trust me, you'd notice if it were your chambers. Just the bed and the chests. Come on, hurry." He clicked the lock back shut and stuffed the seal skin under his tunic and went to work on the bed, leaving the prince to the bigger chest. When everything looked as it had before (or at least enough like before), they clicked the lock at the chamber's door shut again as well and left as quickly as possible.  
   
 "No," Merlin said when Arthur wanted to take the way to his own rooms. "I asked Gwen to collect the girl. If she found her, they're waiting at Morgana's." He took the prince by the arm and dragged him along until his hand was slapped away.  
   
 "Why Morgana, of all people?" Arthur murmured and hurried past him up the other set of stairs now.

 Merlin shrugged, a strange glint in his eyes. "Nobody found the druid boy there, right?"

~*~

 She had indeed been there. Had clutched the skin when Merlin handed it to her and wept, she obviously hadn't expected to ever get it back, despite her pleas weeks earlier. Morgana kissed them both on the cheek in thanks, smiled at them and literally kicked them out then, saying she would take care of all the rest.  
   
 When the girl had vanished the next day, Culhwch had been furious and had insisted on a full search of the castle, which slowed their departure, which in turn made his father incredibly angry. It ended in shouting in the courtyard for everyone to see and in the boy sulking when he climbed into the carriage, a picture that Merlin really didn't want to remember any longer than necessary.  
   
 He stood next to Arthur leaned against the balustrade of the galleries and watched as Uther gritted his teeth over the scene. Seemed like everyone all around was happy that peace would return to the castle, especially since prince Arthur was supposed to leave in three days for the coast. "We can never let anyone know about this," Arthur said presently.  
   
 "You're the prince. As long as you're not telling, we aren't either."  
   
 "I am, am I not? Come on, let's see to the baggage train," he pushed away from the stone and made his way towards the stables.

~*~

 They had hid her with the supply train, one person more or less didn't make that much difference. Reaching the coast without incident, Merlin collected her from her place under the cover of night and they met up with Arthur only minutes later. The girl was still clutching the skin tightly to her and Merlin thought she would probably never let go of it again as long as she lived...if she ever got back on land at all.  
   
 "Can you make it from here to your people?" the prince asked. "I know it's a long way off, but we couldn't go any further north without any kind of explanation."  
   
 She shook her head. "No, this is fine, thank you. There are seal colonies here, and I can hide out with them for a while, get back to my people when it's summer again. Thank you...so very much. Both of you." She looked at them and she was strong and smiled and seemed to glow in the moonlight. "I almost didn't think it was possible but... You helped me. If there ever is something I can do for you. Me or my people, just call for me. My name is Olwen." Then she ran, towards the beach and into the surf. She did something with the sealskin that Merlin couldn't make out, his eyes felt weird after and she was gone.  
   
 "Did you see that?" Arthur stared at him with wide eyes and he nodded. "That was... That was almost magic."  
   
 Merlin let that sit there for a few second, not quite daring to breathe. He didn't know how many times he had used magic close to the prince, knew that according to the laws of the kingdom he should be dead. "Not all magic is evil, Arthur."  
   
 Another long silence followed, then the man's hand landed between his shoulder blades and he was steered back towards the encampment. "I know, Merlin. I've seen." The prince wouldn't elaborate on this and Merlin didn't dwell on it but for some reason, his heart felt lighter afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Culhwch, Olwen and Cilydd are indeed figures of the Arthurian legend, but I did twist around the myth a little. I wouldn't quite call it a desecration but ^^; You can read about the original tale [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Culhwch_ac_Olwen) and a transcription of it can be found [here](http://www.ancienttexts.org/library/celtic/ctexts/culhwch.html). Beware though, it's mostly many many lists.  
>  Selkies are creatures of Scottish (Gaelic, actually) mythology. Sometimes you find the term silkie or Selchie; [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selkie) has some initial information about it.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of spring passed by without incident and yielded to sweltering summer heat with occasional torrents of rain which kept the fields green and the grain growing rather than wilting. From the mainland however, came news of drought and threats of famines in winter but they were few and didn't seem of immediate concern to the kingdoms of Britannia. By the end of that summer, Merlin had read all books in Gaius' rooms and had memorised all the common remedies that his teacher applied on a day-to-day basis. Geoffrey of Monmouth still wouldn't let him roam in the archives though so those were off limits. All that, of course, didn't mean that he was bored. There were still accounts in the bestiary to add, Gaius' had by far not written down all of his salves and tinctures and Arthur was actually making him train at weapons now. Even if under much protest and not in front of his men (“What's with you, being my manservant but not even able to defend yourself. What will you do if the castle happens to be stormed and you're in the middle of the fray? Ah but I can't have you train in front of everyone, that would just be way too embarrassing for me!”); he wasn't really getting much better at it.  
   
 These peaceful summer days, which were punctuated only by Morgana and Arthur fighting so badly the servants of the royal household were gossiping how they were like a couple married for twenty years already, came to an end with the first autumn storms, which not only brought more rain but also attacks against the coastal villages by the Normans who had suffered from the droughts and were using these raids to stock up their stores, most likely. This was the first series of such attacks in years and the King first learned of them late one night when a messenger arrived, barely able to drag himself through the gates anymore. He was a young man, not even twenty, with a deep gash in his shoulder that was oozing blood and foul smelling pus. Telling the King and his son about how his village had been attacked by men who had landed on the coast, the village-men had almost all been killed, the fate of the children and women was unknown to him because they had been sent away when the first invaders had been sighted, cost him his last strength and he died in the early hours of the morning in Gaius and Merlin's care.  
   
 “It almost like in Ealdor,” Morgana said as she and Arthur were overlooking the courtyard from one of the walkways, which made the prince look at her, shaking his head.  
   
 “It's worse than in Ealdor,” he was silent for a moment. “Killing all the men... Imagine what they did to the women, they can't take them after all, they're only additional mouths to feed.”  
   
 Before she could make any comment as to that though they heard Uther's voice behind them. “What's even worse than that is that this time it's happening on our soil.” Arthur saw Morgana close her eyes, probably to keep herself from telling the King exactly what she thought about the difference between the two villages, and turned around to his father.  
   
 “I'd like to head a campaign out there, survey the damage, patrol up and down the coast until the sea gets too rough for them to travel for nothing but loot,” he'd thought about it for a few hours. He wanted to see what the Normans had done, he needed to see. It wouldn't be his first raided village, by far not his first fight, should it come to that, but there was something in him that drove him to see for himself what had happened.  
   
 Uther nodded. “Take Gaius with you, in case he can still do anything. We need to show those people that Camelot has not forgotten them.” That was more like 'in case you need his attention' but he'd never say that much, although all of them knew what problems a months long campaign could cause.  
   
 “I doubt Gaius will appreciate campaigning and I'd rather not have to tend to my own physician halfway through,” Arthur remarked haughtily, which earned him a dark look from Morgana, at which he just winked. Gaius was the best physician the court ever had but he was old and campaigning wouldn't be good for him.  
   
 Uther shrugged. “Do what you want.” And left them then.  
   
 Arthur inclined his head slightly to Morgana. “Guess it is time I'll be on my way then. My lady.” 

~*~

 “Her dreams have become much more frequent,” Gwen confided to Gaius as she was picking up the new sleeping draught. “Although she's mostly only sleeping badly, not snapping awake in the middle of the night.” Gaius made an affirmative noise and nodded, obviously not too happy with this information.  
   
 “I don't want to make the draught any stronger though, lest she get too used to it,” he finally answered and handed it to the maid. Before she could answer, however, the door banged open and Arthur stood in the frame.  
   
 “Your highness, you know I always am of service to you but please be a little softer on my doors, I was not about to commission a new one for a while yet,” the old man sighed and turned to his lord.  
   
 The prince looked around. “Certainly, Gaius. Is Merlin around?” he asked and just then saw his servant step through a door in the back, hands full of dried plants. “Ah there you are. Pack up all the stuff you need for a few weeks in the field, we're going on patrol to the coastal villages and you are to join me as physician as well as my servant. Come to my chambers when you are done here. Gaius, I hope you don't mind I did forego you but I thought it would be easier on you.” The last he said turned towards the court physician, who gave a small nod.  
   
 “Very thoughtful of you, sire, I don't value sleeping on the floor as much as I did in younger years.” This made the prince smile and turn on his heel, leaving as quickly as he had come.  
   
 Gaius looked towards his young charge. “You pack your own things, I'll put the other supplies together. Hurry now, you won't have more than a day or two to prepare. His highness is just as hasty as his father was when he was that age.” 

~*~

 “I won't have to fight, will I?” the miserable tone Merlin said the words in almost made him laugh, if the situation hadn't been so serious. Merlin still didn't like weapons training, although by now he at least could hold against a blow or two and that was worth something.  
   
 Arthur shook his head. “No, you won't have to fight. You won't be squiring for me,” he looked up from his pack. Until his coronation he wasn't allowed to take a squire and now it seemed a moot point when Merlin was taking care of everything that wasn't real battle. “I'm taking twenty of my men, whoever has a squire and a baggage train, which will have its own physician responsible for whatever comes up back there. You'll be solely responsible for us and whatever we find in the villages.”  
   
 Merlin nodded. “Gaius has instructed me. I'll go over the supplies with him once more later tonight.”  
   
 “See that you do, Gaius has served in my father's wars ever since he ascended the throne. Quite large footsteps you're filling there.” Merlin wondered if his prince had ever heard of too much pressure letting people perform sub-par but there was probably no helping that. Something didn't seem right though.  
   
 “Only twenty men, sire?” The strength of Camelot lay both in numbers and in skills, that was a very low headcount.  
   
 “That's all we can rally sufficient supplies for in a day with everyone out at their lands and with their families for the harvest. We'll be joined by a hundred more men and supplies a span from our arrival but this is an important time, so we'll only do a rough survey of the raided village at first, see if we can do anything about relocating any of the survivors who haven't found something on their own already.” The last sentence let him scowl and Merlin knew that he probably didn't expect to find any survivors and if so, they would likely be beyond help. Such was the way of things.  
   
 Merlin himself had never seen war, safe for a few raids on Ealdor throughout the years and the one they had successfully stopped more than a year ago, and didn't quite know what to expect. Instinct told him though that it wasn't going to be pretty and the look in Arthur's eyes did nothing to diminish those thoughts. He wished his teacher would come with them so he wouldn't have to bear the responsibilities of a hundred and twenty men's health on his own shoulders, but Arthur had thought right, Gaius was too old for these kinds of outings. He just hoped he could meet the expectations.  
   
 “Here,” Arthur shoved over his pack for inspection. “I always pack my personal things myself, however in case something happens and I'm laid up, this is how it's done. Got that?” There was a blanket in there, a change of clothes in case of drastic weather changes, some dried meat and a few personal effects like the token Morgana had bestowed upon the prince years ago when he went out for his first real battle, a small silver pendant in the shape of a dragon's head. 'Never wear something around your throat, your enemy could catch it on his weapon by accident or he could simply strangle you with it', Arthur had said during one of Merlin's first lessons with the sword. More of his personal effects, spare amour and weapons as well as the command tent, would go with the baggage train, these were just what he wouldn't go without. It reminded Merlin once more that Arthur was a warrior as well as a prince, maybe even more than he was a prince.

~*~

 They were leaving at first light to make as much use of the day as possible, a grim procession of young men and seasoned veterans, squires and members of the supply train, who were quickly falling back though. Merlin made up the rear, his pack similar to Arthur's, although instead of any personal effects, save for writing utensils, he carried a collection of bone needles, waxed silks and guts, as well as a bundle of clean rags to staunch bleeds. He was supposed to stay in his position, however when the prince called for him he didn't have much of a choice, so he cantered to the front and reined in slightly behind him, as to not threaten his vanguard position (court proceedings were still a mystery to him but Gaius had used up a good portion of the night to drill proper battle practises into him).  
   
 “Is there anything more you can say from the look of the wounds?” It was about the only thing they could do to the poor young man who had brought the message of the attack to clean his wounds and douse his consciousness before he had slipped away that night.  
   
 “The infection had spread wide already and we could hardly tell where one wound ended and the infection began under the skin and the next began. Gaius also said he had probably widened the edges when he was moving around from there to Camelot so it's hard telling. I'm not even sure if they were caused by a sword or by something else.” A nod was the only answer he got, but the only one he had expected, too, for the prince was already brooding about an approach, should they meet with any Normans before they joined up with the rest of the men.

~*~

 The village was a nightmare of the kind that even Arthur had a hard time dealing with. What was left of the huts was burnt out, the stone blackened. Bodies of a few dozen men lay in the streets, bloated and discoloured or incinerated and beyond any recognition. The fate of the women had been worse. There were a few of them on the streets also, their clothing torn, their faces and arms bruised, some had their throats slashed. But on the outskirts of the village, the picture was even more dire, it looked like all women and girls had been penned together and forced to watch as their attackers raped one after the other, then killed them and threw them on an ever increasing pile. There were a least two score of them and the stench of decaying flesh was already heavy in the air.  
   
 Arthur heard retching noises then and looked around. Merlin's horse was unmanned and stood with a look of boredom close to a tree, where the noise seemed to originate. All animals were chargers, used to the smell of blood and the noise of battle and thus didn't care much of what was going on around them. Merlin though... The prince dismounted and leaned with crossed arms against the tree, shielding his servant from further onlookers and waited for him to empty his stomach. When he finally let his head hang and leaned his arms on his elbow he spoke up. “You all right?”  
   
 Merlin looked up slowly, wiping his mouth. “Yes. No. I don't know. Is it always like that?”  
   
 Arthur turned around and let his eyes travel over the carnage once more. “No. But often. And often, it's even worse. We'll burn everything, we can't bury that many people. I need to know if you'll be all right or not.” If he wasn't going to be all right, Arthur would have to send for Gaius after all.  
   
 Closing his eyes and taking one deep breath, the other boy finally nodded. “I will. It's just. How can people do that?"  
   
 “They're pillaging, it's one of the spoils of war. It happens. I'm not letting my men do it, looting yes, raping no. There has to be a limit. This is... I'm not thinking less of you for your reaction.” He meant it. There were many an honourable knight who had reacted similarly the first time he had witnessed a scene like this, it just meant they were human, nothing more.

~*~

 He had only witnessed the battle from afar, if it could be even called that; ten men suddenly landing at the beach, attacking from the front and from the sides. They had singled out Arthur pretty quickly, although his men had done everything to keep him out of harm's way but the northmen were big and strong, carried axes mostly. They didn't look like trained warriors and probably weren't but that didn't change anything about their stature, or their desperation and just that was the emotion that made them especially wild. It didn't take long for the trained and organised knights to subdue the men, all of them were pretty much dead or dying quickly, but Merlin had seen Arthur go down under an axe. He only stayed in place because he knew he would only be in the way, but it was a near thing, he had clutched the water-bladder he had been sent to fetch and almost made it burst.  
   
 It was long fearful minutes before the prince appeared, limping and grimacing, his mail hanging from him partly ripped open and hanging in shreds, supported by Sir Lucan, who seemed none the worse for wear. Merlin had wanted to go and look for Arthur, but he knew that would have served nothing than to make him even more afraid that something had happened, so he had stayed, told the heart hammering in his throat to calm down. That the prince now was back, on his own two feet no less, was a good sign in and by itself. Then Arthur waved Sir Lucan away but Merlin still needed to help him limp into the command tent; he wasn't prepared for the look he got at his friend's back however. The chain mail was almost completely ripped open, a huge and gaping wound above the shoulder blades across the whole width of his back.  
   
 Merlin gasped and dumped his patient unceremoniously on his cot where the prince sat panting for a few second, while he got his supplies from his pack. “Do you have any wounds other than one on your back?” No answer. He grabbed his equipment and knelt in front of the prince, in his line of sight. “Arthur. Do you have any more wounds?”  
   
 “I have wounds?” the question was in such an incredulous tone that Merlin thought he must be in shock, the panting spoke to that as well. Silently, he handed his master a mug with a few sips of wine to counter that, then he had to get rid of the armour, and once more silently cursed that this could only be done by lifting it free over the head of the wearer. He'd seen knights and squires do it without help and it didn't look very comfortable. His movements were long-practised so it didn't take him long but making Arthur lift his arms wasn't as easy this time, for the wound obviously pulled at the muscle beneath the skin. Great, just great. He saw the prince's arms quiver trying to hold them steady and instead of causing him even more pain, Merlin decided to just cut away the tunic. Arthur should have worn a gambeson beneath his mail but who thought about a second attack on an already raided village?  
   
 When the prince sat in front of him only in his linens he could see a large bruise forming on the left thigh, probable cause for the limping, maybe he had fallen wrong when he had been pulled off the horse. His eyes had finally cleared up though and we was starting to really wince. “Man, that hurts.”  
   
 “It would. Glad you're with me again. Lay down on your stomach.” It was certainly a change of pace to tell Arthur what to do instead of the other way around, he just wished the circumstances were somewhat different. Since there didn't seem to be any more or worse injuries, Merlin himself finally started to not only go through the motions that Gaius had instructed him in but was actually able to think about what he was doing. Arthur by now was lying down, chin rested on his hands and looked almost back to normal. If there hadn't been all that partly dried blood spattering his back, at least. “How did they get through your armour?” It was a quiet question, meant more to asses the damage that could have been done than that had been done. And conversation would probably calm both of them down.  
   
 Arthur almost shrugged but thought better of it in the last moment. “I don't know. The guy had an axe but he had me buried under him before I could get a better look. Lucan beheaded him and dragged the body off me and brought me here then. Stunned me. For the love of- Merlin, warn a man!” The last was obviously directed at Merlin starting to wash the wound clean with diluted wine, looking for any parts of the chain mail that could possibly have lodged in the flesh but there were none. Arthur's hands had formed into white knuckled fists and his eyes were squeezed shut.  
   
 “It's worse when you can prepare for it, Gaius says. You're lucky, the cut looks clean and shallower than I had thought at first. Do you require a thong or can I just start stitching?” All things considered, he rather enjoyed talking to Arthur, despite the sarcasm and stock threats and that would be horribly cut short if the man bit off his tongue.  
   
 The prince just grumbled though. “Get on with it, this isn't the first time I've been stitched, you've seen my calf, damnit.” He meant the scar that ran all the way from his ankle in a curve up almost to his knee which he'd gotten when he was just ten years old and his leg had snatched at a blade; he'd been forbidden to go into the armoury for a year after that. Morgana had told him to toughen up when he had cried while being sewn together by Gaius again, but of course, he would never tell that last part to anyone, including Merlin, it was just too embarrassing. The woman still taunted him with it, sometimes.  
   
 Merlin shrugged and pressed the tips of his fingers against the edges of the wound, concentrating on the words he couldn't say without giving himself away as a sorcerer. He just wanted to numb the skin a bit, a spell that would wear off within a couple of hours. While he didn't have any doubt that Arthur could take the pain of stitching, it was good practise to actually cast spells without having to say the words, even if it were only minor ones. “You're my first completely alive stitching patient,” he couldn't suppress a grin as he started to pull the wound together with waxed gut.  
   
 “You're going to horribly disfigure me for the rest of my life, I can just see it! Thankfully it's on my back and I won't have to put you in the stocks every time I look at myself,” Arthur groaned with his typical undertone of mock and annoyance. Merlin wanted to swat him but this was not the right time for that.  
   
 “I practised on chickens and hares and the like. Don't worry, I won't mar your ethereal beauty, your highness.”  
   
 “Oh shut up Merlin, and keep stitching.”  
   
 “Of course, sire.”  
   
 Arthur wasn't quite sure the chickens and hares had appreciated the treatment, but at least it hurt less than he remembered from all his previous encounters with the needle, so he didn't complain any further. That was until Merlin said something about not cauterising the wound at all and washing it with wine twice a day because really, there was no sense in that on a battlefield. But Merlin wouldn't do it and he couldn't very well do it himself and his men... He trusted them with his life but he rather preferred flexibility in his shoulders, thus that was out too. Washing it was, then.

~*~

 They found children, later that day, hiding out in the woods. Hollow eyed, awfully silent children who didn't move, didn't blink even when seeing the heraldic signs of their liege lord. Arthur sent Merlin to them to look them over, do anything he could, but his friend returned, shaking his head. The children were in shock, cold and undernourished from hiding out among the trees for so many days but other than feeding them and giving them spare blankets, there was nothing he could do for them. They would have to send the children somewhere they would be cared for, without parents left, more family would have to be found, if any existed. If not... They were only a handful of them, someone would be found, or so Arthur hoped. He'd send them with an escort and a message for his father to Camelot, he would have to find a way.  
   
 He said as much to Merlin the next evening when his wound was being cleaned. The wine stung as it washed over the stitches but he had to admit that, at least with the honey and onion poultice Merlin had put on him, it hadn't itched too bad that day, under his spare mail and the gambeson, that his servant now insisted he wear no matter what. “It is time we got on patrol. Keep this from happening anywhere else,” he added as he pulled the tunic back over his head.  
   
 “You can't be everywhere at once though,” Merlin interjected quietly, although Arthur knew he was just as annoyed about that as himself.  
   
 “I know. I know,” he therefore just muttered. Nothing was said after and Merlin left quickly, seeking for his own bedroll out in the open.  
   
 He hated it. He hated that he could only do so much, that he could only be at one place at a time. If the kingdom had the manpower, he'd set up a garrison in every village, if farmers could spare the time and money for proper training at arms, if... He was the Crown Prince, he was supposed to protect people. All people. And yet he couldn't. It had become clear to him in Ealdor, he hadn't been able to protect everyone there. He hadn't been able to protect the druid boy. Tom. Merlin, almost.  
   
 Throwing the mug he had been drinking from against the tent wall, he got up and doused the fire. The healing wound at least ensured that he would find sleep easily, make him forget what a disappointment he was to his father, as well as to himself. 

~*~

 They'd met up with the rest of the men a day later and had been patrolling up and down the coast ever since. Within the last month they had prevented one raid and had almost been too late for another, fifty Normans against a few villagers with muckrakes and they only just managed to keep everyone from being slaughtered. In other places, people had already more problems than just possible raids, winter fever and the pox were starting to plague them. Some of his men had somehow infected themselves and were laid up in an extra wagon at the rear of the supply train and would be transported back to Camelot soon; who of them would live to see it he wasn't sure.  
   
 The weather was getting worse, the waves more violent. Nothing to impress the Normans yet if they were low enough on provisions, but soon the cost wouldn't outweigh the benefit anymore. He knew though, that come spring and milder seas, he would have to be out here again, preventing more raids and abductions too. It had happened before, he had been told that much, and just might again. Inwardly sighing, he sat straighter on his horse. Spring was months off and first they had to get back home in one piece.  
   
 He saw Merlin cantering towards him from up front and gave the sign for everyone to halt while he himself trotted forward. It was rare, seeing his servant in full Pendragon livery with the golden dragon displayed on his chest but official business made this necessary and asking Mercia for permission to cross their border certainly was, if he didn't want to risk diplomatic complications, as his father called them. He would have sent someone who was more suited, one of the knights, but that could have been read as provocation while Merlin was just so..._harmless_, or at least he looked it. “Ride with me,” Arthur commanded as they met up.  
   
 A weary look went towards the collection of mounted men behind him. “Sire, I can't, it's against-”  
   
 “Court protocol, I know. However, speaking against the wind will tire me out. Ride with me,” court protocol was necessary and important but sometimes, especially where such sensitive matters were concerned, it just had to be overridden. It was a command decision, no one would question it in the end. Lips pressed together, Merlin finally rode up next to him. “Well then, what did they say?”  
   
 “We can cross up to five leagues in but no further. They will interpret it as a thrown gauntlet if the baggage is taken any further. We'll be watched,” he said the last with a slight grin. Arthur smiled back, because that was really ridiculous.  
   
 “I didn't expect them to let us cross that far even. Well done,” Mercia was allied to them, more or less, however there was still enough rivalry and uninvited crossing of borders, with a military train no less...could possibly lead to undesired side effects. Arthur himself had a somewhat less than friendly enmity with the princes of that country, they were idiots.  
   
 Merlin cleared his throat. “Well, I might have given the impression that I would lose my head if I didn't bring a positive outcome back to my lord.”  
   
 “I haven't had you beheaded for insolence yet, Merlin, I think you're pretty much safe when it comes to that,” the prince smirked and saw the other man ducked onto the neck of his horse.  
   
 “Yeah, well, but they don't know that, do they?” Arthur would have laughed out loud at that if there hadn't been all those men behind them.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur held his arm out to be inspected by Gaius. The old physician made noises of displeasure and shook his head, he obviously thought the prince should have come to him much sooner. The wound on his arm had been caused at practise that morning, Sir Kay had had gotten him just where the mail shirt ended. Normally, he wouldn't have gone to Gaius at all, he had left worse ones untreated (which he, of course, would never tell to either the physician nor to Merlin), but he was supposed to attend a banquet in full festive garb today and the cut was still oozing through his sleeve and itching. Also, he was bored, his father had gone hunting with the King of Mercia and his sons and Arthur was still banned due to the incident in the previous year.  
   
 “Where's that useless servant of mine, anyway?” he asked while Gaius fastened the last strip of white linen around his arm.  
   
 “I sent him out to gather some herbs and roots for drying so we'll be all stocked up for the winter. He actually-” The door opened suddenly. “Ah, there he is, see.”  
   
 Merlin indeed stood in the door, eyes wide open and a bundle of greenery in his arms that he let fall where he stood. “Arthur, I think something's wrong. The hunting party's coming back in really fast and your father isn't sitting on his horse.”  
   
 The prince was off his chair in a flash and running into the courtyard, where people were gathering already; commoners, knights and servants alike. He saw Morgana come running out of the castle, her skirts in her hands and he had to think for a moment to remember when he had last seen her like that. It was a distant thought, just as distant as the fact that he knew both Merlin and Gaius were close behind him. The horses were now passing the portcullis and were reined in before him. King Edwin, who had led his father's horse, and his sons dismounted with everyone else, kneeling before him. Arthur had no capacity to think of the implication of the King of another kingdom kneeling in front of him, could just see his father's horse, no one sitting on it, but-  
   
 “What happened?” his own voice was foreign to himself, somewhat rough and everyone seemed frozen, except for Gaius. The court physician walked around the animal and a strangled sound could be heard, then a thud. When Arthur could finally move, he saw Gaius holding his father beneath the arms and slowly lowering him to the ground, bending over the man. “What is it?” One side of Uther's face was bloody and there was no colour in it at all. It was a long minute in which Gaius did things to him, touched him at various places of the neck, the arms, the chest. Arthur looked around; Morgana had her mouth covered with one hand and tears were actually swimming in her eyes, the foreign King and his sons were still kneeling, Merlin met his eyes for a second, most other people were still just staring at the scene in front of them. “What is it, Gaius!” he finally yelled so loud that some of the horses threw their heads back and rolled their eyes.  
   
 The man looked up to him and shook his head. “He's dead, your highness. I'm sorry.”  
   
 “No,” Morgana whispered. “That can't...” She walked up to Uther and knelt next to his head, one hand reaching out shakily and tracing fingers softly down the uninjured side. Her tears weren't shed but she swallowed hard.  
   
 Arthur had gone cold inside, his short nails digging into his palms. He turned around to King Edwin. “What happened?” he yelled again, the King just raised his head and looked up.  
   
 “One of the horse's hooves caught in a hidden snare, your highness. It reared suddenly and your father was thrown off. He landed with his head on a stone and didn't move anymore. We hurried here, tied him to his horse, hoping we could do anything but... I'm sorry we were too late.” He dropped his eyes again.  
   
 His eldest son piped up, “We will leave immediately, leave you to take care of things. We will reconvene when Camelot's affairs are back in order.”  
   
 “Certainly,” Arthur murmured. He still couldn't think, but people were starting to talk among themselves now and suddenly, Gaius was at his side, talking to him.  
   
 “-your highness.”  
   
 “What is it, Gaius?”  
   
 “I asked if you know what to do.” The physician's voice was patient but insistent, quiet enough not to overheard by anyone. Arthur knew, there were things he had to do now, his father had hinted at them before...but the Black Knight had come between that and Uther had never again picked up on it. So he just looked at Gaius and frowned slightly. The older man pursed his lips and looked around. “Quickly now, before your father's men arrive, then.  
   
 “You need to order all Pendragon banners to be lowered to half-mast as a sign of grief and as a sign of what happened. You will need to be invested as King but not for a week yet, first everyone must learn of the tragedy and be allowed to understand what that means. The news will travel fast but you're not at war with any nation, hence you can allow for a week until your investiture. Once you're invested you will need to call all lords and bannermen to Camelot for them to swear fealty to you, as they did to your father. This is not to be a feast but a summit only for that purpose. The oath of fealty has to be made before the assembled lords, not in private. This is important for they might be sworn to Camelot but not to you personally as of yet.” He looked up again and when Arthur turned around he saw the quick procession of his father's staff and servants hurry out of the castle.  
   
 “Keep talking,” he ordered as he awaited them. He also saw that Merlin had come closer and was listening in silently, throwing a look back at Morgana once in a while, who was still kneeling beside the dead King.  
   
 “You will need a Queen and an heir soon. There is no arguing there anymore, the Pendragon line needs to be carried on. There will be many eligible women and you need to choose carefully; when you do, do not let yourself get carried away by the display of beauty. Although you may marry, I advice against large celebrations for a year and a day from now.” Then Gaius took a deep breath. “Do you know anything about your father's wishes regarding his interment?”  
   
 Arthur nodded quickly. “Good, that is good. Your highness.” That was the first time that the prince noticed that Gaius voice was shaking, too, and it occurred to him that the man had lost the lord he had served most of his life. He turned his head and looked at the physician. “One last thing before they arrive. You need to figure out who you can trust and quickly. Many of the men in your father's service have their own ambitions, such is the way at court, and they will do anything to take advantage of his untimely demise. Gather those you trust already close around you and you will be able to make wise decisions then.”  
   
 Before he could say anything in answer, Uther's men were around him and talking to him in a flurry. Even if he had have that many ears, it would have been too much. “Enough!” he called and everyone, even the people around, fell silent. Very pleasing.  
   
 “Set all Pendragon banners in the kingdom to half-mast in respect for King Uther's death! The people are to learn of his death and grieve him. Send a messenger to all lords and bannermen who have sworn fealty to my father and to Camelot that they are to gather in a week's time to repeat that oath to me. Let them know that in case of their absence it will be noted and appropriate steps will be taken, including stripping them of their land and titles if necessary.  
   
 “My father is to be interred at Caer Caradog, where my mother already rests. Such were his wishes and they will be heeded. A tomb lid in his likeness will be fashioned and transported there within a month, to cover his body and make him eternally remembered. And now leave me alone, I have to prepare to bring my father there personally tomorrow.” Without looking left or right he strode towards the castle, dimly aware of the stares that followed him.

~*~

 Merlin had exchanged a few words with Gwen, who was equally shocked as everyone else but had pulled herself together quickly for Morgana's sake, before Gaius had sent him after the prince, even though both of them knew that his presence would probably not be desired.  
   
 Before he had even ascended the stairs, he could hear crashing from the direction of Arthur's chambers and that didn't bode well. He knocked, waited. The crashing didn't cease, so he knocked again, louder this time.  
   
 “What!” it wasn't a question and he took one deep breath to prepare himself for the next few minutes. When he opened the door though, he hardly trusted his own eyes. Arthur had shattered all furniture, except for the bed; the chests, the chairs, even the heavy oak table. The man was drenched in sweat and his laboured breathing was loud in the sudden silence. “What do you want?” he spat in the most nasty tone of voice that Merlin had ever heard him use.  
   
 “I've come to pack your things and air out your clothes for tomorrow.” Both of them knew it was a lie but at least it gave him something to do while Arthur produced fire wood. Merlin picked his way through the debris to the remains of the chest that held the prince's formal clothing. He didn't know what was right to pick for the death of a King but most of these clothes were in some shade of red and gold anyway, so it wasn't that hard to choose. He sat down on the broken chest, clothes held loosely in his arms. “I'm sorry, Arthur.” It was offered quietly and the prince looked up for the first time then, from kicking against the broken wood and pacing the room.  
   
 “Yes, thank you, Merlin.” And a few seconds later, “Why are you still here?”  
   
 “Do you know what to do now?” Merlin knew he was probably overstepping his station, even if Arthur was his friend, but he couldn't help but feel that maybe there was something he could do, anything.  
   
 The other man stared at him for a second, then he shook his head. “I need to bury my father. Caer Caradog is a day's ride away by wagon or carriage, so I can think about the next steps on the way there. I need to take oaths of fealty from my allegiances. And Gaius said something about sorting through my father's people but I'm rather sure that won't be necessary.”  
   
 If Merlin was honest with himself, he had expected nothing else. “Arthur, you're prince regent now. You can't leave Camelot for two days when there is no one to take matters in their hands, or the wrong people to take them in hand.”  
   
 Arthur exploded. “And what do you think I should do, wise servant that you are, huh?! Am I to let my father rot in his bed for the next few months and not bury him? Or am I to go against his wishes and inter him here in the crypts, where he never wanted to be, away from my mother, whom he lost at my birth? Or am I to bury him but not be there when they lay him to rest?” He shouted for another two minutes and then bashed his fist against a rough patch of stone where one of the tapestries ended; his knuckles came away red with blood. “My father's people can take very good care of Camelot in my absence, that has been shown before! What do you know anyway?” And that was too much.  
   
 “Oh, nothing!” Merlin yelled back. “Of course I know nothing at all, I'm just a lowly servant. And I guess you're aware of Aurel's doings, too. I'll just leave you then to your misery, my lord.” Arthur was just too thick skulled to be reasoned with, he decided, he might try again later tonight. He knew he couldn't let Arthur go for two days but there was obviously no talking to him now.  
   
 But the prince surprised him once more. “Wait,” his voices sounded much calmer. “Aurel? My father's scribe? What's with him?”  
   
 Merlin turned around. “Ever since the failed marriage between you and Harold's daughter, Aurel has been keeping King Harold informed about court proceedings,” he explained. He really didn't want to be smug about it but couldn't help the little jolt of satisfaction when Arthur just stared at him in disbelief.  
   
 “How do you know that?”  
   
 “Aurel's wife works in the kitchens. The kitchen staff usually stay amongst themselves and any gossip going on stops immediately when someone who belongs in livery enters the room, so none of the servants usually hear anything through them, although they are a pool of gossip from all over the castle. Anyway, when I'm delivering linens for cuts or potions against burns from Gaius, they tend to ignore me and at some point I heard Aurel's wife saying her husband was preparing a good life for them in Harold's kingdom so she would never have to work in the kitchens again.” He shrugged.  
   
 “And why did you never say anything of that?” Arthur obviously didn't understand it.  
   
 Merlin shook his head. “Because it wasn't that long ago and I didn't know she was the wife of your father's scribe until very recently. I asked a few people, Aurel was born in East Anglia and he learned his trade from his father, who was at the time the scribe of Harold's father, then went to Uther for some reason or other. And it never seemed too significant, your father does...did rule with a strong hand, no harm would have come to Camelot. But now,” he shrugged again and turned to go once more.  
   
 “Merlin,” Arthur's voice held him back.  
   
 “Yes, sire?” It was probably a good idea to get used to proper titles now. Arthur would most likely start to insist on it once he wore the King's crown and Merlin had never gotten into the habit to refer to the man with proper etiquette, feasts and banquets had been more than difficult, for that reason among others.  
   
 Arthur sat down on the bed and suddenly looked extremely tired. “What else do you know that I should?”  
   
 He frowned and put the clothes he was still holding over the back of a broken chair, then gathered a clean looking piece of cloth from one of the piles that now littered the floor and poured some water on it. “I don't know,” he finally said and went over to his master, dabbing the cloth against the raw and bloody hand to clean the wound. “Not much. They know I'm your servant and that I don't participate in the gossip. Usually they only try to pump me for information on your love life.”  
   
 Arthur actually smiled. “What love life?”  
   
 “You know. 'Who did the Prince take to his chambers after the feast last night?', 'Oh, is Ginny with child? Didn't the Prince lay with her a few months ago?' or 'Well, at least when he's in the stables not much of a chance for bastards, right? What with only the grooms working there.' and then they all look at me. Don't worry, all I ever do is shrug.” He didn't raise his gaze from the scraped hand. Arthur's liaisons were none of the kitchen staff's business, in any case. “The allegations of bastards never came through though, you can relax there. Hold still,” he chided. “You're such a baby sometimes.” If the prince had any say about it none of his wounds would really be cared for, save the ones that seemed dangerous even to him, but Merlin knew better.  
   
 “Huh,” was all the man said as in answer. Then, after a minute or so in a much more earnest tone, “What do you think I should do?” When Merlin just looked at him in question he elaborated, “About tomorrow.”  
   
 His father's burial was a potential source of disaster on so many levels. The prince regent couldn't leave the castle for two days, but if he didn't attend his father's funeral, he wouldn't be seen in a good light by the people. “I don't know. I still think you shouldn't leave Camelot for two days though, not at a time like this.” He fell silent and shook out the cloth, added it to the laundry pile he now scooped into his arms to take downstairs, figuring the prince would need some time for himself after what he would say next. And he really didn't want to be hit by any pieces of furniture. “I know what the people expect, though.”  
   
 “And what is that?” He still sounded tired but now there was an edge to that voice again, like something dangerous was just waiting around the corner.  
   
 “The people expect you to do what you're supposed to do now, to be as strong as you possibly can. You cannot be seen struck by grief, your highness. I understand that you mourn your father as much as any child would mourn losing their only parent, believe me I can imagine.” He didn't want to think about the day he would receive word of his mother's passing. Couldn't. “But you are to be King. You need to take your grief and your mourning into your private hours during the night, else you will present badly to your people and to other kingdoms, who might take that as a sign of weakness.”  
   
 The first cup hit the door when he had just pulled it shut behind him, narrowly escaping from death-by-infuriated-prince. Really, he had said more taunting things to Arthur over the last years, but the thread of the prince's patience was, understandably, extremely thin now. The implication of him being weak obviously was none that Arthur was too familiar with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't believe, at the time of writing, that it really took me 20k words to kill Uther. I complained about it a lot to the people who knew what I was working on ^^; But I needed some padding to the story first, Arthur was too young to be King directly after Series 1 and I needed some development to happen first. I have great respect for Uther, certainly, but he needed to go eventually, for me to be able to finish writing this story. And I didn't want to kill him like he died in the legend, either.  
>  Caer Caradog is rumoured as the resting place of Uther and/or Arthur. The historical Geoffrey of Monmouth identified it as Sailsbury, which turned out to be so utterly and completely wrong... Well. I did some research on the matter when I needed to figure out where to bury the man. If anyone's interested, [this site](http://www.britannia.com/history/arthur/mynydd.html) offers a discussion about the validity of the theory.


	7. Chapter 7

In the end, he had spent most of the day on his own seat in the throne room, the throne itself would remain empty until he officially took the title, and reassured people by his presence. As a fact, messengers from all over the kingdom arrived constantly with condolences from his lords and bannermen; the news had indeed travelled faster than most of his own envoys, it seemed.  
   
 He had fled court in the late afternoon on a saddled horse and had ridden three hours hard to his father's interment. It was the arrangement he had arrived at with Morgana when he had talked with her the previous night; she had gone with the funeral procession while he would join them in the evening and his father would be left with his mother at last light. Morgana (for Gwen had straight out refused to attend and neither of them would order her) would spend the night in a town nearby while he took a fresh horse back, once more riding hard, and arrived back in Camelot in the middle of the night.  
   
 Arthur opened the door to his chambers with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. Sleep would likely not find him this night either, even though he was tired to the bone. If this continued for longer he would have to ask Gaius for a sleeping aid, he would not be capable of wise decisions when overly tired.  
   
 He was more than surprised to find his manservant sitting in a perfectly good chair at a perfectly new table in a clean and tidy room lit by a fire. He hadn't spoken to Merlin all day, not after yesterday's suggestion of weakness. He wasn't weak. He was the Crown Prince of Camelot, now Prince Regent and he was not weak.  
   
 They stared at each other for a long minute.  
   
 “You chose wisely,” Merlin said then. Arthur just nodded once and sat down at the table as well, mostly in lack of something else to do. He was weary and didn't even feel like taunting his servant. “Don't you want to sleep?”  
   
 He shook his head. “I don't think there's much point in trying, if I sleep for three hours or not doesn't make much of a difference. Maybe you can take care of asking Gaius for something to help with that, though, for tomorrow.”  
   
 “I will bring you something,” Merlin nodded but wouldn't look up. Arthur hadn't spent years complaining of bad manners and lousy performance and not learned anything though.  
   
 “What is it? Spit it out and stop doing that,” he yawned and got up to step towards the window. It was dark outside but the courtyard was lit by torches, would be for the whole week until his investiture. As a sign of vigil, said the custom, from a purely tactical point of view it made sense though, the kingdom as a whole and the court in particular were especially vulnerable to outside forces now.  
   
 His servant obviously was startled. “Doing what?”  
   
 “The not looking at me. You're only doing that when you hide something you actually want to say to me. Come on now, it's too late and too dire a time for you start being like that now. You've been waiting for me, haven't you?” Well, of course Arthur, why else would he be in your rooms, he chided himself. But he had been awake for almost two days, he wasn't up to exercises in eloquence now.  
   
 Nodding, the other man turned around. “Yes, but because I wanted to make sure you had gotten back okay. And... There is something. But I think I need to talk to someone first, before you can know of this.”  
   
 The prince looked at him for a while searchingly. “I won't like this, will I?”  
   
 “No, most likely not.” The answer was as straightforward as anything Merlin ever said. It was one of the few reassuring things of the last two days.  
   
 “Well, at least you're still honest with me,” he said and finally let himself be helped out of his travel clothes. “I spoke with a few of my father's retainers today, a few of the overseers of records and have the feeling everyone but Gaius and Geoffrey of Monmouth, who're both too old and too loyal to my family to be spying, is lying to me in one way or other.” It was frustrating, one man was telling him something, just for it to be negated by someone else again; some careful looking into matters and many replacements would be needed.  
   
 There was a long silence, when Merlin finally spoke, his voice was a little shaky. “Will I be replaced, sire?”  
   
 Arthur blinked and wondered if he was hearing things now. “What?”  
   
 “Well, the King has a staff for these matters, too.” The tone of voice was firm again and when the prince turned around, his servant just shrugged. “I mean, you always say I'm the worst servant you ever had and when you're King you certainly will-”  
   
 “Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Your tasks as my manservant will remain for a while yet, I'm not up to explaining where things are kept _again_. We will discuss your future duties at court when I've had time to sort through my options. That is, as long as you don't call me a prat in front of the whole royal household.”  
   
 “No your highness, that is reserved for your private chambers,” the glint of humour would have been enough to set him grinning, if the circumstances had been different. Instead, the prince glowered a little.  
   
 “And now go get some sleep, I need time to think.” He waved towards the door and for once Merlin went without protest, or so it seemed. At the last moment he turned back.  
   
 “Rest well. And Arthur?”  
   
 “Yes?”  
   
 “I wouldn't want anyone but you as my King.” He was gone before the prince could answer.  
 Shaking his head, he proceeded to stare out the window again. “Thanks Merlin,” he said quietly and knew something had just fallen into place.

~*~

Two days passed before Arthur had the chance to speak about more than the barest necessities with anyone and by then he was so sick of being lied to and to be taken for a fool that he would probably run his sword through the next person to come before him. He met Merlin on the stairs leading up to Morgana's rooms, who was descending while he was climbing them.  
   
 “She's not really feeling well,” his servant stated and tried to slip past him but Arthur grabbed him by the arm.  
   
 “I don't expect her to, neither do I. That, however, doesn't change the fact that I need to talk to her, to you both for that matter.” He shooed the other man back up until they finally stood in front of the door. When he knocked it was Gwen who answered.  
   
 “Did you forget- Oh, your highness. Uhm.” She half turned around for a second, then looked at him again. “Please come in. Can I do something before-”  
   
 Arthur pushed the door open and shook his head. “You may stay, Gwen. Hello Morgana.” The former King's ward gave him a half smile. She was dressed in dark colours that made her skin look even paler than it was.  
   
 “Your highness,” she said half mockingly, “what takes his lordship to my chambers this late in the day when I have been not worthy of your presence until now?” There was scorn beneath her mask, even Merlin felt that and shot a worried look to the prince, who just sat down on a clothes chest and leaned backwards against the wall. He looked, if anything, only more worn than Morgana.  
   
 He sighed. “I'm sorry I haven't been by since the funeral. There were things I needed to take care of, first.” He was silent for a long moment in which all eyes were on him, then Morgana scraped a chair over the floor and sat down as well. Merlin crossed his arms and leaned back against the stone next to Arthur. The prince was studying the floor for a while longer, then looked directly at her. “Do you plan to stay at Camelot, once I'm invested?”  
   
 Merlin frowned. He had never even considered the possibility of Morgana leaving, but Arthur was right, of course. She had been Uther's ward but with him gone, her status had changed to something that Merlin, at least, couldn't pinpoint. Arthur meanwhile had, if he so chose, every right to ask her to leave or marry her to one of his lords. Obviously though, she had anticipated something like this. “If you approve of that, I would appreciate that, yes.”  
   
 Arthur nodded. “Good, then that's out of the way. I would then ask you to take your seat during court again, I can use the company. And the counsel,” he only mumbled the last bit and coughed. She raised her eyebrows, if in mock or in true surprise, Merlin wasn't able to discern. “Now, there are a few other matters related to it I need to speak with you about.  
   
 “I talked to everyone who was in any position involving some kind of responsibility concerning the inner working of the court under my father and to tell you the truth, it is a mess. Everyone is hiding something or lying about something or some such, I wonder how my father ever made it work with knowing all of that. However, I cannot replace everyone, I simply don't have the people who are skilled in that particular matter to take over that many positions. Which is why I will work with a much reduced personal staff for a while and see about filling up positions within the first year. Many of the wrong ones will remain, unfortunately, but those are of lesser consequence. Aurel,” he nodded at Merlin,” is in the dungeons, I have not yet decided what to do with him.  
   
 “Morgana, I know my father valued your counsel, I also know you didn't always agree with each other. I will do my best to honour his appreciation for your opinions and please, do go on to voice them.” To say she looked stunned was a grave understatement and she seemed lost for words, so she just nodded her thanks. “I also know why he had you shackled once. I'm hereby letting you know that as long as you are a part of the royal court, you will enjoy my protection and something like that won't happen again.” Arthur let that sit for a moment and then winked; he obviously knew how to deliver a well placed blow and didn't have any qualms about applying that knowledge.  
   
 “Merlin.” He looked up and sighed with an air of resignation. “You truly are the laziest, by far the most awful manservant I have ever had and you have the worst handwriting I have ever seen-”  
   
 “You said you weren't going replace me!” Merlin interrupted and almost pouted. Almost, because he was simply too old for that and his mother said it wasn't cute anymore.  
   
 “-so what I am saying now will maybe be a surprise. Yes, I did, I also said I wouldn't replace you _yet_. I will have to, eventually, though, since you won't have the time to tend to me and to your other duties.” Merlin frowned. Other duties? “I can't do it officially for as long as I'm not invested, but I still want you to be present at court. I plan to have you appointed as one of my advisors as soon as the uproar on my crowning has died down a little. That head on your shoulders is not as terribly empty as I thought at first it was and I need someone to tell me what he thinks and not what he thinks I want to hear.”  
   
 Merlin's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. He was a boy from the country; before he had come to Camelot he had never even seen a building higher than one story, let alone talked to someone who was nobility, and now he was supposed to be advisor to the King of Albion? Morgana and Gwen meanwhile were grinning at each other and Arthur looked like the cat who got the cream, just worse. Way worse. Then he turned to Gwen. “I don't exactly have a position for you, but please speak your mind if there is anything, either to Morgana or to me directly. Not in front of anyone else though. Now it is _my_ prerogative to be right and whoever goes against that in the open spends time in the stocks or in the dungeons,” he threw an extremely dirty look at Merlin, who still hadn't managed to close his mouth and got up. “Now then-”  
   
 “Your highness,” Gwen interrupted and locked surprised at herself right after. “Ah. There. I think there is something you should know.” Arthur saw her exchanging a worried look with Merlin. This wouldn't be good. He sat back down.

~*~

Knocking at a door with a mug full to the brim with a steaming liquid in his hands wasn't easy. Unless he used his foot, which was extremely inappropriate when knocking at the door of the man who was to be his King the next day, but. He shrugged internally a kicked against the door. “Yeah?” Was the muffled answer. Opening the door with his elbow was somewhat harder so he unsnapped the lock with a small burst of magic.  
   
 Arthur sat at his table writing on a piece of parchment but looked up. “Oh it's you. What's that?”  
   
 “Herbal infusion to help you find some rest. Nothing strong, you've had it before.” When he sat down the liquid he tried to sneak a peak at the writing but Arthur shoved it away.  
   
 The prince looked dubiously at the steam rising from the mug. “Is that what made me get up three times that night?”  
   
 Merlin smiled at him lopsidedly. “It's not like you have to empty your own chamberpot. Drink up, tomorrow is going to be a long day.” He sat down as well and nodded towards what he had brought.  
   
 “You know, Merlin,” Arthur mused and took it in both hands, “sometimes I wonder how you manage to get these infusions here still steaming. That is the one thing none of my other servants ever managed, hot cider was never hot, only lukewarm at the most.”  
   
 “Trade secret,” his servant smiled. Magic was as useful for these little things as it was for big ones like killing the griffin. He quickly sobered though. “Do you really want to go to war?”  
   
 “It's a siege, hopefully. And probably a short one. They killed the King, my father, what else do you think I should do?” There had been much talk about this the last few days, Arthur was determined, as was Morgana, Merlin alone was hesitant about the topic. No one really knew anything yet, Arthur was not officially crowned so he didn't yet have the authority needed for this. So preparations, putting together supplies, mobilising men and the like, had been done covertly, without anyone knowing the real purpose. Additional to that, the preparations of the crowning ceremony had to be carried out as well, although that was mainly a matter of servants carrying out orders; Geoffrey of Monmouth was overseeing things, he had witnessed more than one King being crowned in his life.  
   
 Merlin sighed. “It was an accident,” that was his main concern. But he wasn't saying this for the first time and he knew the answer. Arthur looked at him with his eyes saying exactly what he had told him several times already, yes it was but it should have been handled differently, not the way it had. What they were doing now was the only possible consequence, lest his authority be undermined before his reign had even begun. Merlin put his arms on the table and rested his head on them. “What are you doing there? Working on your speech?”  
   
 “No, that's easy. I'll solemnly pledge to protect the kingdom and its people from harm and make it prosper,” the prince took the last sip from the mug and put it down next to his friend, then rested that hand on his head for a moment before sitting back again. “This is something different. You'll know soon enough.”  
   
 Before Merlin left, he turned to face Arthur once more. “I need to tell you something, still. About me.” He couldn't let Arthur become King, let him go to war, couldn't be his advisor and his friend and all that and not tell him about his magic. He was sure, this future King would not kill him, would not burn him at the stake or behead him. At least he was hoping that with all of his heart.  
   
 Arthur looked at him for long moments, eyes searching for something. Finally, though, he shook his head. “Not now.”  
   
 “But-”  
   
 With the speed and reflexes of the warrior he was, Arthur had him pinned against the oak door with a resounding 'thud' and a hand pressed over his mouth. “I said: Not now. Got that?” When Merlin nodded silently, the other man let go and turned away. “You can tell me tomorrow after the investiture.” His voice was hard and dismissal more than clear in it.  
   
 With shaking hands, Merlin opened the door and stepped out. He wasn't afraid, just...shocked. The change in pace had come so quickly. He left then, even though he really, really had wanted Arthur to know tonight, if just for the sake that he didn't want any secrets between them.

~*~

The ceremony itself had been sober. The people had cheered, of course, how could they not? But Arthur had succeeded his father, not conquered the lands and freed them from a tyrant. Now though, that he had sworn his vows of protection and was to hear the oaths of fealty of his lords soon, he had one more matter to take care of. He cleared his throat.  
   
 “When my father took the throne, it was in a time of upheaval, people dying everyday from attacks by bandits, from raids on their villages or from the arbitrariness of their liege lords.” Uther had dispatched quite a large number of noblemen for cruelty against their people and disobedience against him. “He made this kingdom prosper under his reign and secured borders as well as the lives of many men, women and children by a set of wise and righteous laws.  
   
 “At the time of my birth, he pronounced a ban on all magic and the death sentence for any practitioners. As your new King, today, I am altering this law.” He heard the murmur from the ranks below him, felt thousands of eyes on him from below as he unrolled the parchment. “Let it be known! The knowledge of magic is no longer punishable. The practise of magic is no longer punishable, under the condition that no harm is done with said magic. If a party claims to have been harmed by magic, the accused practitioner is to be tried before either me or a proxy of my choosing for that purpose. If the harm is done in protection of life and property of either the magic user or those close to him, it is not punishable. This does not apply in duels. A law of proper wording will be added to the legal code of Albion, however, its effectiveness is immediate.”  
   
 He rolled the parchment back up and wasn't surprised about the silence in the least. The ban on magic and its death sentence had cost many people their lives and had weeded out many enclaves of the Old Religion and now the new King had declared that all that had been for naught. Most people probably didn't know what to think now. After several moments, there were a few cheers, then everyone chimed in. Arthur smiled and turned around to go into the throne hall for the ceremony on the oaths of fealty. Merlin, still clad in livery, he would need something to distinguish him from the servants and soon, looked at him as if he had just grown a second head while Morgana just smiled at him slightly and shook her head in what seemed like wonder and appreciation at the same time. She had fought his father enough times on the pronounced death sentences and it had been her who had protected the druid boy for the longest time. He just hoped that he had made the right choice, although in his heart he knew that there had been no alternative.

~*~

The oaths had been long and nothing short of tedious. Several of the first to swear had asked for leave to return to their lands but he couldn't grant it, not yet. When the last lord was done kneeling in front of him, he got up himself and looked around. Most of these men had been with his father for more years than he was alive and he didn't know if they would follow him as willingly into anything as they had Uther, despite their oaths. Fealty was a formality, he knew that as well as they did, he would have hunted them down and stripped them off their lands and titles as he had announced, they didn't want that, it was as simple as that. But now...  
   
 “I know we all were shocked by the sudden death of my father, King Uther. King Edwin of Mercia and his sons described it to be a terrible accident and it certainly was, the way my father landed on that stone was most unfortunate. It has come to my attention in the last few days though, that is was not as much a coincidence as it was said to be.” Murmuring among the lords but he made a gesture to get them quiet again. “One of the huntsmen who was with the party that day to carry back any game and butcher it properly, saw King Edwin's son Edgar lay the snare early that morning before dawn, when the huntsman was checking his own traps.  
   
 “Since neither King Edwin nor one of his sons deemed it necessary for me to know this, it must be seen as an aggression against the kingdom of Albion and the throne of Camelot in particular. We cannot fathom that Prince Edgar didn't intend for my father's horse to step into the snare and go wild. Thus, I dispatched an envoy today after the crowning ceremony declaring war on Mercia. I expect your troops to join us on the way, we leave four days hence. You're dismissed.”  
   
 Arthur had wanted to make straight for his chambers but was held back by some of his lords. Yes, he did intend to go to war. Yes, he had been serious on the law of magic. No, he certainly wasn't desecrating his father's memory. The last hadn't been voiced open but he could hear it in what they didn't say and didn't ask. He knew, being King to these people would be a large piece of work, especially until the day that they finally accepted him as what he was.

~*~

 “That was a brave thing you did, your majesty,” Morgana said as she fell in step with him when he left the throne room at last, having sent all lords ahead of him.  
   
 He threw her a look. “You can forego the title in private, Morgana. Thank you though, I guess.” They were walking silently for a moment, Arthur with his hands clasped at the back, until she suddenly stepped in front of him and made him stop by laying a hand on his chest.  
   
 “Why did you do it?”  
   
 Leaning his head back, he looked towards the darkening stone ceiling, then back at her. “The stench of burning flesh is making me nauseous when it wafts through my windows. My father said that to know the heart of one sorcerer is to know the heart of them all but I have a hard time accepting that magic will render a heart black. If we go that far, we need to start burning midwives who know how to ease the pain of birth, too. I do not know anything about magic, Morgana, do you?” She shook her head at him silently. “If it is not something learned but rather innate, it would mean that there are children born with black hearts in their chests, with bad intentions and I cannot believe that.” It had come to him one late night when he hadn't been able to sleep from the stench of the latest burned sorcerer in his nose, long before the druid and his apprentice (or had it been his son?) had shown up. Children might be cruel sometimes to other children, they might tease and make each other cry but Arthur had never seen a truly evil child, he just couldn't accept that implication.  
   
 Morgana gave a very unlady-like laugh, then kissed on him the cheek softly. “Thank you, Arthur. Now I know you will be a great King.” Then she hurried away.  
   
 The King sighed. People seemed to think that a lot, he just wondered where they got that confidence from. He entered his chambers because he had nowhere else to go, really. The day was over but he didn't feel like eating, he just wanted...he didn't know what he wanted. The decision was taken from him when he saw a meal laid out on the table and Merlin's voice sounded behind him. “Want help getting out of those clothes?” When dressing in the morning, both of them had remarked on how impractical formal King's garb seemed to be and how Arthur would have to change the fashion. It had been funny at the time, now he just smiled tiredly.  
   
 “That would be good, yeah.” Merlin took the coat from his shoulders and eventually, Arthur sat in his comfortable every day clothing at the table with a growling stomach, being hungry after all. “Thanks for bringing the food up here.”  
   
 “Yeah. You're welcome.” Merlin was uncharacteristically quiet while he watched him eat and it was more than just a little unnerving. Still, he was hungry enough all of a sudden not to care and only looked at his servant when he was done.  
   
 “Out with it, Merlin, whatever it is.” They were a week away from laying siege to someone else's domain, he couldn't bear the man suddenly having a bout of insecurity around him.  
   
 “You knew, didn't you? For how long... How did you know?” Arthur wondered how, of all the people in the world, Merlin was the one who could make a question completely out of context into an accusation on the same level with treason.  
   
 “Did I know what?”  
   
 “That! That I...,” he took a deep breath and then slumped down. “That I have magic,” and then he finally looked at him properly and Arthur could see emotions, most of which he couldn't even name, warring in his friend's eyes with such force that it almost took his breath away.  
   
 Clearing his throat to buy a moment of time was a bad tactic in diplomacy, it stood to hope that Merlin didn't know about that fact. “I didn't know. I didn't,” he repeated when he saw that a reply was imminent. “I had suspicions, strong ones, since Ealdor. If Will was such a powerful sorcerer, why hadn't he saved the village single-handedly?” He shook his head in remembrance. “A thousand little things that would have made so much more sense if put in a context with you and magic. I'm not mad you didn't tell me, not with a death sentence over your head. Can I ask you something, though?”  
   
 Merlin looked beaten. “Anything.”  
   
 “Why did you come here, of all places? Why did you stay? If anyone had ever caught you... Do you know what would have happened?” Arthur only realised when the words were out of his mouth how stupid a question that was. Of course Merlin knew, he had watched alleged sorcerers die dozens of times. That only made it more cryptic though.  
   
 The other man sighed and it seemed to come from deep in his soul. “My mother sent me here. She knows, of course. She sent me to Gaius, whom she knew from before, hoping he would be able to make any kind of use with me. Yes, Gaius knows, too.” Looking past the King out of the rapidly darkening window seemed to transform him back into the boy he had been the day he arrived in Camelot. “I didn't know about the ban on magic then, not exactly. My mother had always kept my....my ability covered, only Will knew about it really, and she taught me to do that, too; she didn't tell me why. I learned that the day I came here and saw that poor soul be beheaded.” Arthur remembered that day. He remembered them all since the first time he had seen it at age three. “And staying. I stayed for you, Arthur, really. At fist it was because I was told our destinies were joint. Don't ask me to explain it, I can't. But above and beyond all of that, you became my friend, despite being a royal prat.” He smiled directly at Arthur then, his gaze having focused back on reality. “And besides, you needed me,” he grinned, then, self-assured and all uncertainty gone.  
   
 “What did I ever need you for?” Arthur frowned back in what he knew to not be a kingly manner.  
   
 Merlin was about to start relating every single time he had saved his friend's life or helped him accomplish something when he stopped. “Well, you get your drinks hot in winter, at least.” Reaching out a hand towards the King, palm up, he let a small flame dance on it. Arthur, who had been mostly amused until then got up as if he had been stung by a bee and looked at him, eyes wide. The moment of astonishment didn't last long though, he sat back down, as if nothing had happened.  
   
 “That is ah, impressive. How do you do that with your eyes?”  
   
 He shrugged. “Just happens, it's the magic taking hold or something.” Long moments of silence followed in which Arthur seemed to contemplate everything that had just been said. Then he shrugged and took a large mouthful of wine.  
   
 “How much do you know about the Old Religion?” Merlin wasn't sure he liked the implication his King had arrived at.  
   
 “Almost nothing. It's been mostly dead for centuries, save for a few very small abodes throughout the islands in which it is still practised ritually. I guess the druids still go about it, too, but I know next to nothing about them. Why?” Of course he knew more. He knew what Nimueh and the dragon had told him, but he didn't have explanations for what they had said so he couldn't very well relate that to Arthur at all.  
   
 The King meanwhile was frowning into his mug. “With the ban on magic lifted, I think it might be a good idea to know something about it. Many of the sorcerers my father had killed over the years were born in such abodes you mentioned. You have four days to read up on it, then you're coming with me to Mercia; I'll be leaving Morgana to look after Camelot.” Arthur sounded so sure of himself, it was something that Merlin admired. He knew, of course, that his friend had been bred and groomed for exactly that purpose but he seemed to instinctively know what to do now and how to do it right. “If the court historian gives you any trouble looking into documents then send him to me.”  
   
 The documents Arthur was talking about were pretty much the last records the kingdom had on the Old Religion and its practice of magic, Merlin had heard few and quiet rumours about it because magic in all its incarnations was a thing of evil according to King Uther, so he had never thought to be able to look at them. They were kept under lock and key by Geoffrey of Monmouth, which was where he was headed the next morning at first light.

 


	8. Chapter 8

War was not exactly the way Merlin had expected. They hadn't ridden pillaging and looting into the country. There had been no people about who could possibly have been harmed. Food producing places had been left alone. They were now entering their fourth week encamped in front of King Edwin's castle and the people of the surrounding strongholds, most likely those of Edwin's lords, had started to come out after the second week, when it seemed clear that no one would attack them or their property. Arthur had given everyone on this campaign a stern talking to, that all they were interested in was to take revenge on the people who had killed the former King, not on taking away people's resources. And these people needed to come out, too, it was harvest time and they couldn't afford to let the grain rot in the fields.

That also was the reason why the King expected a short siege; the stores in the castle had to be almost empty, consequently those inside would have to either come out or starve. Merlin felt sorry for the common people inside, who had nothing to do with this, but he also knew that this was one of the consequences of life at court.

“Merlin,” Arthur's voice sounded from the front of the command tent; looked like his majesty was back from his daily vigil on horseback in front of the central drawbridge. King Edwin's castle was surrounded by an artificial moat, that Merlin didn't event want to imagine how many hours of work it must have cost to dig. Fed by a small stream, he estimated it to be as deep as the outer walls were high which wasn't a lot by the standards he was used to from Camelot but still enough to be a hindrance. “Merlin?”

“Out back!” he called over and dunked his hands once more into the water.

“There you are!” Arthur's voice sounded behind him. “Any word yet?” They were waiting for Morgana's daily missive which had started to arrive a few days after themselves. They usually detailed court proceedings and told in no difficult to decipher subtext that she was almost bored to tears (and threatening in sealed attachments to take away Arthur's manhood, at which he usually cringed).

“Nothing,” he answered and only turned around when the King didn't return to his tent. “What is it?” he squinted up against the sun.

“My boots need cleaning,” Arthur stated and held one of his boot-clad feet out to be inspected. “It's very muddy today.”

Merlin looked at him, shook his head and looked down at himself, kneeling in exactly the same mud his majesty was complaining about. “You don't say.” When a boot was wriggled into his line of sight, he looked up again, more than a little unnerved this time. “Arthur, in case you haven't noticed, I'm scrubbing your tunic here.”

Arthur clucked his tongue in an unkingly manner and wriggled some more. “Clean it with _magic_, idiot. What do you have it for, if not this?”

“I don't think when they said you were my destiny they meant me using my magic to shine your boots,” he sighed and murmured something under his breath, making the shoe brush appear and start scrubbing at the man's boots, feet still in them. Arthur made a pleased sound and patted him on the shoulder.

“Who said that anyway? And what do I call you? Sorcerer? Witch?” Merlin knew, the last was said with a grin but he still elbowed his friend against the shin, which made Arthur chuckle.

He hadn't told him about the dragon. Arthur certainly knew about it, but letting him know that Merlin had gone to talk with him repeatedly was useless, there was no way he would do again - and the dragon was probably dead anyway - so there was no point. It would just complicate things and they couldn't need that now, not with everything that was going on anyway. He also couldn't say anything about Nimueh...mainly because he knew less about her than about the dragon.

Even the old documents had not been helpful in that respect. He had studied them for the remaining days in Camelot, then Arthur had called him up to the head of the column for the journey and they had ridden ahead some, out of earshot from anyone; to make the use of titles obsolete as much as from anyone else learning of this kind of research.

~*~

 

They'd been galloping for a good long while and had to have been well out of earshot from everyone already when Arthur had finally reined in. Merlin hadn't pointed this out, however, it had been a while since he had seen the King looking this happy and content with himself and the world at large as during the race just past; he had actually hooted. He had only realised then, very belatedly, how oppressive the new role must be for his friend and had decided to spirit the man away once in a while, to give him some space to breath.

“Tell me,” he had ordered as they were walking their horses dry again.

Merlin had looked over and seen a somewhat sobered, but still happy expression. “Tell you what? The topic is somewhat...vast.”

“What is magic?”

“Arthur... That is about the worst question you could have asked. There must be as many answers to that as there are people who ever have had magic in them.” When he had seen that the question still stood as it had been asked he had started pondering. “Some say, in different ways, that the Old Religion and magic are one and the same, that it stems from the earth itself as the force that binds everything together. I don't know how much of that is true. For me...

“I'm not sure I can describe it properly to you, magic has been a part of me since before I can remember and I was never formally, you know, educated in it. It's just there and some things I can do, some I can't. Like, I guess I couldn't make the sun rise in the morning where it set the evening before. Also, I guess most of those who have magic have a...a way to call on it. Spells. At the very beginning Gaius asked me if I had been chanting a spell in my mind when I did something but I can just...most things, I can just make them happen. I need spells for more complicated matters, like, helping Lancelot defeat the griffin.” He had noticed that Arthur had stared at him somewhat disbelieving but he had just shrugged. “He's a good man, Arthur, but I doubt he's better than you. He just was at the right place at the right time...and he didn't tell me sorcery was the root of all evil.” The tone had been a little reprimanding but he thought the King probably knew what he was trying to say.

Arthur hadn't looked at him for a long moment and had pursed his lips, but eventually he had seemed to be content with the answer. “Then where does it come from? In people, I mean,” he had clarified.

“Not sure. Remember, there seem to be only very few documents left at all and most of these weren't saved to be used as a source of information but rather as a source of destruction, to fight against magic should it arise again. Some of those accounts say that it is always passed down from mother to daughter, so if a woman has some kind of a gift, the daughter will, too. Others say it also occurs randomly in girls. Others again say it can be learned as long as the girl is still a virgin. All sources agree that the Old Religion worships the earth as a kind of benevolent goddess, because she gives food and drink and magic. As for magic in men, sources are very scarce, probably because all other documents had some sort of spellwork woven into them and they were destroyed as one of the first things.” He had paused there to collect his thoughts. He had considered asking Arthur to bring someone of the Old Religion to Camelot, but most likely the people, save for very few of them, who still worshipped that way didn't know too much about these matters either.

“The druids are mostly focused on material magic, potions, rituals, you name it.” He had repeated the trick he had done with the flame in his palm before. “The few sources I did find said magic in men occurs at random and has nothing to do with who your parents are.” Uther had been thorough in his purges, magic at large was probably dead to the people of the isles, even with the ban now lifted, there had just been too much lost, too many with knowledge dead before it could have been recorded.

They had talked some more, Arthur had seemed to be especially curious about the implications of passing it on from parent to child and the role of sex and how Kings were formerly incorporated into the 'benevolent goddess' system. But for the most part it had been about his own abilities, their extents and limits. It seemed to fascinate Arthur, the way he kept asking and inquiring made that pretty clear and if Merlin was honest with himself, this pleased him immensely. So much, that he had almost forgotten that they hadn't been riding out for fun but that they were on their way to war, he only remembered that much when they joined up with the knights and men-at-arms again.

~*~

 

“I think 'warlock' is the proper term,” Merlin answered, remembering what the dragon had always called him. The brushes were done with the boots obviously for they just dropped to the floor (right into the mud, for which Arthur gave him a pointed look) and he wrung out the tunic one final time and draped it over the rope he had spanned between the tent and a supporting pole just for that purpose.

They stood now and looked towards the castle. Arthur had the command tent set up close to the central drawbridge in order to survey the situation at any given time. From across the moat up on the battlements they could see the inhabitants, sometimes Edwin and his sons, most often only guards, looking over at them. “Court warlock, are you then? I think I like the term sorcerer better.”

“Call it what you want, it doesn't change the facts. How many of them know?” He nodded at then men to all sides, some eating, jesting, playing tabula or foxes and geese. Or riddling. The camp was filled with voices at any given time of the day, more so than Camelot was at the market and Merlin seriously wondered how Arthur had stood this for most of his life. But then, he probably didn't know it any differently.

The King shook his head. “No one knows. It's not beyond me to accept your help in this but if I reveal you now, it will look as if I've hidden you from my father for years. It would put me in a bad light.”

“Of course.” There was silence for a long moment. “How long do you think this will last?”

“The siege?” Merlin nodded. “I don't know. Depends on their stores, I'd guess. To tell you the truth, I would prefer to be back home, it's harvest time there, too, and I can see how the men are getting somewhat nervous about being here and not able to help bring it in. But unless they come out...” Arthur's eyes landed on him and he narrowed his eyes. Merlin didn't like that look and he liked it even less when he noticed that glint in them. “You couldn't possibly,” the King gestured towards the castle.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin had to hold onto himself not to cross his arms in front of his chest (which would have looked more than disobedient towards a casual onlooker; no matter how much he went hand in glove with Arthur, that much familiarity could not be perceived by others, for a million reasons that Arthur had detailed, possibly repeatedly). “And what would your majesty have me do, if I may ask?”

Arthur looked out towards the moat again, calculating. “Lower the drawbridge, raise the portcullis and jam both mechanisms.”

“And what do you want to do about the walls, then?”

Blue eyes met his. “Can you breach it?”

He bit his lip and chewed on it for a second, thought about it, if he needed spells. If he could do it at all. “I don't know, le-” That was the second when everything went dark around him, although he might have distantly heard his name being called.

~*~

Waking up happened slowly. At first he only knew his head was throbbing in tune with his heartbeat, then he felt something running through his hair, sometimes something heavy resting on his chest. It seemed like an eternity before he could open his eyes and even the dim light he was surrounded with hurt. “Merlin,” that was definitely Arthur's voice and it was calm, soothing. “Are you awake?”

“Ungh,” the sound was supposed to have been a 'yes' but came out pretty mangled. Closing his eyes again and swallowing, he tried again. “Yes.” Trying to reopen them was a pain at first but eventually he managed to focus them on Arthur, who sat next to him and rested a hand on his chest.

“Good. Would you like some water?” He would have nodded but thought with the way his head was throbbing that might be a bad idea, so he just made what he hoped was an affirmative sound. The King smiled, and reached for a cup outside of Merlin's field of vision, then knelt next to him and supported his head. Merlin really wanted to protest, if someone saw him that would- But Arthur shushed him, frowning, let him drink a few sips and put the cup away again. It was only then that Merlin noticed he wasn't lying on the ground outside, where he had...what had happened? Had he fallen? He'd go with that. Where he had fallen but this was the inside of the command tent and he was most definitely lying on Arthur's cot. That was another thing that was absolutely not right but he chose not to argue the point for the moment.

Arthur sat down at his side again and frowned. “Are you sure you're awake? You seem pretty out of it.”

“Headache.”

His friend cleared his throat. “Yeah. I can...,” he cleared his throat again, “imagine that.”

“Happened?” Very eloquent, Merlin, really. But his head was just hurting so badly.

“Uh,” Arthur pressed his lips together. Huh. Was he still dreaming, maybe? “You mean. You don't remember?” Merlin wanted to sit up but Arthur pressed a hand against his chest and held him down easily. “Are you sure you should do that?”

“Yes?” Two eyebrows were raised at him. “Guess not. What happened?” Well at least was a little more coherent now.

Arthur's throat worked in a swallow, his lips pressed together again and there was a glint in his eyes that usually meant he was just short of bursting out in laughter. “You...were hit in the head.”

“Yes, Arthur, I kind of gathered that from the throbbing.”

“...with a chamberpot.” Merlin could see that his friend was desperately trying not to laugh. He also could see that he was slowly but certainly losing that fight, first starting to grin, then a low chuckle started in his chest. Meanwhile, Merlin mouthed 'chamberpot' to himself, shook his head the tiniest fraction and finally sat up bit by little bit until he was upright and could swing his feet over the edge of the cot. When he started wavering, Arthur threw an arm around his shoulders to steady him, chuckle slowly abiding.

“Hey, you okay?” A hand wandered to where the throbbing originated from and poked around. “It's a bump, but you're not bleeding or anything.” He sobered. “I was a bit worried when you went down.” Merlin looked up. Of course, Arthur would have been, after his father... “But you didn't bleed, you were breathing... And well. There were things that needed to be done, then.”

It was only then that Merlin noticed the smell, now that he was so close, he squinted, looked closer. Arthur's hands were bare rather than gauntleted and there were speckles on his clothing. “Is that blood?”

Arthur looked at his sleeve, his mail, and nodded solemnly. “Yeah. When you were hit you did everything I had asked for and tore down a good portion of the wall.”

“King Edwin and his sons?”

“Merlin, you knew-”

“I knew. I just. That doesn't mean I like it, you know?” When the King nodded he shrugged off his arm and reached for the cup of water. “So I did it? That is... How long was I out?”

“The rest of the day and all night. It's early morning now. I only came back a few hours ago myself. And yes, it was...rather impressive.” He patted his back again and got up, unbuckling his belt and let his hauberk fall from his neck and shoulders completely before he worked himself out of it, which made Merlin realise why _he_ had to do it all the time, it looked extremely ungraceful.

“Thanks for looking after me.” Probing at the bump himself he grimaced. “What's happening now?”

“Here you mean? I'll leave a garrison here at the castle, have Edwin's lords swear fealty to me and go home. I conquered a territory, Merlin. With your help, but still I did. I revenged my father. That's what I came here to do,” he smiled and it was just a little bit sad. “Thank you.”

The tone of voice Arthur used was more than just a little bit sad, there was anger and rage, relief, and it sounded like a weight that fell off the man's heart. It made Merlin look up and they looked at one another for a long moment. “You're welcome, your majesty.”


	9. Chapter 9

Winter was bleak, even or maybe especially this close to its end. It would have been even if Uther hadn't died that fall, Morgana was aware of that, but Camelot seemed all the more subdued for the absence of the old King. Or maybe it was due to the lack of a prince. Arthur shouldn't be on the throne, yet, he was young, often hot-headed and - what had Merlin called him? - all too often somewhat of a prat. She wished Uther had lived for ten more years, so his son would have been able to observe the duties of kingship from an adult perspective for a while longer. Arthur certainly had the makings of being a good King; he was brave, could be kind and generous and his arrogance and nastiness had largely receded in the last few years (if she had to pinpoint it she would say Merlin had been the decisive factor there), all of it didn't change the fact that his own involvement in matters of state had never been sufficient.

Uther had made a warrior out of his son but never much of a statesman, which had never been a problem - and which no one had ever recognised as one - until the boy needed to be both.

The siege in what had formally been Mercia had been right and necessary and she had been the first to agree with it, but those were the decisions not only of a warrior but also of a son revenging his father. In other matters though - how much grain had to be set aside for next year's sowing, how to incorporate the newly conquered territory into the kingdom - he lacked knowledge and experience, putting him in need of counsel. She was trying her best but as often as he did listen to her, he also ignored her opinion, or rather chose to disregard it, following his own instincts instead.

It frustrated her. Almost as much as the easy familiarity between him and Merlin did all too often, considering _she_ was the one who had spent most of her life growing up alongside the boy-who-would-be-King. That familiarity had been there almost from the day Merlin had stepped into Camelot - and had gone as far as both of them risking their lives for one another - and she therefore had a hard time believing Arthur hadn't known about the magic. She had - as one of only very few so far - learned of it only as the King had come riding back triumphantly from executing his father's accidental slayers. But she wasn't about to accuse Arthur of treason - and it was a moot point now anyway - however, it nagged at her that neither of the two men (providing Arthur had known about it) had trusted her enough to tell her. Especially when it had been her who had always spoken up for the condemned magic users and both of them had known that.

A quiet knock at the door pulled her from her nightly reverie. “Yes?”

“I was hoping you were still awake,” she hadn't expected Arthur, of all people, to step into her room.

She gave him a half-smile in answer. “Why, your majesty, it is rather unseemly for a lady to receive gentlemen visitors in the small hours of the morning. The people might start talking.” Still, she offered him a seat and indicated a second cup and the wine.

He fetched himself a cup. “Theoretically I can ravish who I want and no one would be able to do anything about it. I'm the King, you know?”

“So I've heard.” They didn't say anything for a while and Morgana wondered why the man was there at all. There had been only a little talk between them the last few days, King Harold had sent a new proposal for Arthur to take his daughter as Queen and she had shown her opinion by simply not talking to the man after. The King had been annoyed and had taken to one of his rides in the winter woods, which Merlin seemed to initiate quite often these last few months. “Whatever could the King want, then?”

He looked out of the window for a moment, silent, then leaned his head into the hand supported by the armrest. “Do you know how many men have asked my father for your hand in marriage? Or me now, for that matter?”

“I know there have been requests but... Why?”

“You're beautiful, Morgana, I'm the last to deny that. You were the King's ward and now you're my-”

“No, Arthur,” she interrupted him. “I know why they would want to,” she knew she actually coloured a little, it wasn't often that Arthur actually voiced his compliment to her, usually he just gaped at her open-mouthed at special occasions. “Why are you bringing it up?”

But it didn't look like she was to get a straight answer at all. “Marriage is more political now than it was even when my father was young. Sometimes I envy the...simplicity with which the common people live.”

“You made that clear before,” she said mildly.

Blue eyes met hers. “Did Merlin say anything?”

“I don't need Merlin to tell me what's written clearly in your eyes. I've known you long enough to have gotten away with beating you up with a wooden sword and later give you that scar on your belly.” The comeback was sharper than she had intended but sometimes she was sick of Merlin this, Merlin that. She liked him a lot and always had, but Arthur sometimes paid too little attention to the _other_ people around him these days; she just hoped that would wear off with the novelty of magic.

Raising his hands and yielding the point, Arthur just shook his head. “How many do you know who are happily married?” he returned to the original discussion.

Since he certainly had a point there, she needed to think about it for a moment. “King Baylad's son seems rather happy with his wife.”

“And how happy do you think she is?”

“I wouldn't know, I'm not in correspondence with her.”

Silence spread once more between them and she really wished Arthur would get to the point of his visit, since she was starting to get tired enough to hope she wouldn't dream. She had tried not to ever since Uther's death. “Well I don't know what my father would have thought about this but...” He stood and held out a hand for her to take and made her get up by pulling gently, they were standing close enough together that she could smell the wine on his breath. “Morgana, would you do me the honour of being Queen in Camelot?”

It was as if someone had pulled away the floor from under her feet and she had to sit back down. “Arthur, I...” She almost joked 'are you sure you don't want Merlin to be that?' but this was not a time for jests, the King of Albion proposing to her was a serious matter. “I mean... It sounds odd to say it, but are you sure?”

Said King actually started pacing. “Look,” he said when he had made two rounds through her bedroom, “I'm not asking you to profess your undying love for me. Because, you certainly are beautiful Morgana, but the fact is you _did_ give me that scar on my belly and beat me up with a wooden sword, which clearly made you lose any kind of respect you could ever have for me and smothered any kind of romantic feeling for you in its core,” the grin he gave her took away some of that jibe. “But the fact is, people have been nagging at me to choose someone for years now, and since I am King now, they certainly won't shut up. I already have had a dozen or more suggestions as to what to do with you in the long run because certainly I 'couldn't entertain a woman as my sole advisor'.

“A marriage between us is of mutual benefit, people will finally shut up and you'll be safe from any kinds of further propositions or worse,” he wouldn't imply what the 'worse' might be but she had a pretty good idea, the stories of girls being stolen away were not accidental in the least. “I'm not asking you to love me, I'm asking you to keep doing what you have been doing the last few months, just in a somewhat more...official fashion.” It was only after he had that said that he looked at her, his gaze unwavering.

She wanted to laugh. For the first time, Arthur had managed to look at a complicated matter from all sides, without prompts from anyone, and of course, his conclusion had to have been this one. But it wasn't the time for joking, so she got up and walked to him, cupped one side of his face in her hand. “Love comes in many guises, Arthur, and I'll be honoured to be your Queen,” she kissed his cheek and grinned. “That, however, does not give you a free pass into my bed now, your majesty. Leave now, it is even more unseemly for you to be here than it was before.”

Arthur didn't know about her dreams, except that she had nightmares and got draughts from Gaius.

~*~

The news of their betrothal had been a big issue for a few days and everyone had been either pleasantly surprised or aghast with horror - except for Gwen, who had just looked smug with an 'I told you so' expression on her face, she had probably heard the news from Merlin before anyone else in the castle had even suspected anything. Rumour of her being pregnant had quickly dissipated when the wedding had been announced for early summer. By all rights, it should have been arranged for after the first anniversary of Uther's death, but Gaius had cautioned against that, saying the people needed stability more than they needed piety. They had agreed reluctantly, especially when the rumours had reached them.

By the last day of the month, which was the usual day for trials in Camelot (and most of Albion), everyone seemed to consider the news old already, though, no congratulations were forthcoming anymore, no one inquired after the how and why. Instead, the days passed as they always had and now Arthur was sitting on his throne presiding over a sorcerer’s trial. Even though he had lifted the ban on magic, the accusations didn't seem to stop, they had simply shifted from the simple accusation of having magic to having done harm with it. Sometimes it was as ridiculous as one man growing grain more plentiful than the other, Arthur had yelled at the accusing party if he ever heard of manure - and while that was very amusing, it was not becoming for a King and Morgana had needed to hold onto herself very tightly, so as not to bury her face in her hands.

“It doesn't look like the accused possesses any magic, much less was doing any harm with it. I don't know how the accusation came to pass in the first place but it is hereby dismissed,” Arthur said presently, his voice tired and just a little frustrated. When all parties had left - the woman being accused of having killed her neighbour's livestock with magic while to Morgana it looked like common blight, the accuser glowering and unhappy - the King shook his head. “How many was that now?”

“Thirty, since you changed the law,” Merlin answered quietly. “Out of those, more than twenty had no magic. Three had magic but didn't do anything. One cut out the legs from under a guardsman with a spell, when he wanted to rape the man's daughter. One was guilty of a number of things, you exiled her from Albion because the harm done did not warrant killing her.”

The King nodded. “The number seems to have increased ever since the new law but we haven't actually heard much from anyone who had serious abilities. It makes me wonder though, how many innocents my father had killed over the years.” Morgana for her part wasn't surprised about the conclusion, however, she saw how pale Merlin went all of a sudden.

“Maybe they're all still in hiding,” she suggested. Or dead, but she wouldn't say that because she seriously worried about Merlin maybe getting sick if she did, that pallor couldn't possibly be healthy. “Not trusting the peace.”

The King looked at her for a long moment, then turned to the man at the door. “Any more?” When the answer was negative, he sat up straighter. “Good. Add this to the records: I, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot and Albion, hereby officially elevate the man to my left to the role of my advisor. Merlin has apprenticed with the court physician for several years and has proven himself to be reliable and an invaluable friend besides. Moreover, he will be serving me and Albion as warlock to the court of Camelot. Record end.” He turned to his friend. “As proof of your abilities, do...something. The flame thing, maybe.” She could see how Merlin rolled his eyes but dutifully snuffed all the candles adorning the walls with not even so much as a word and lit them again a few moments later. The only thing in flux about him was his eyes which glowed golden whenever the magic took hold.

Morgana smiled slightly at the indignant face but she would give Arthur quite a piece of her mind later. Of course, Merlin was a part of court as much as herself, but they had discussed, among the three of them plus Gwen, that it would be better to wait for some of the excitement to die down. So much had happened, Arthur had conquered Mercia in most remarkable fashion and made it part of his realm, he had dropped the ban on magic, and now the wedding around the corner. But Arthur always needed everything instantly, he had been like this when he had been a little boy and she had doubts that would ever change. However, while this was the worst time to announce serious staff decisions, it might at least encourage any practitioners of magic to come out of hiding, which she at least hoped was a step forward. The kingdom could need the knowledge that had gone missing when the druids started to vanish from everyday life, at least that's what the older people said, she herself was too young to know any of this.

As for herself though. Arthur didn't know. Didn't know the dreams showed her the future, didn't know she had known about Uther's death many months before, without actually being truly aware of what would happen or when. She didn't know why she hadn't told him, especially now, she just...hadn't felt it to be the right time. And maybe now, there never would be one. An advisor who had magic and a Queen who saw the future just might be too much for even a strong kingdom backed by a strong King to stand.


	10. Chapter 10

The feast after the wedding had been modest, in terms of kingly feasts at least, in reverence to the fact that King Uther had not even been dead a year yet. However, the people expected some festivities for such an important occasion as a royal wedding and couldn't be disappointed. It also served as an event to gather all nobles together, the ones which had belonged to Albion in Uther's times already and those who had been gathered, as Merlin liked to call it with an eyeroll, into the kingdom after the incident with Mercia. The obvious fact was: Not everyone got along. There were long standing enmities and the seating had been a nightmare, at least as far as Arthur was concerned. Morgana had drilled into him who he had to talk to for how long to not make anyone feel neglected and it was more like a long list of 'things not to forget' than a feast in his honour (well, and Morgana's).

Morgana was beautiful as always. She was wearing a gown of midnight blue, shimmering material that had been fitted close to her body (to dissipate even the last ideas of illegitimate pregnancy) and was now wearing the circlet that showed her status in her hair, which fell loosely down her back. And that was really about all Arthur knew, the day had more or less passed him by in a blur. When he had found himself finally out of the great hall, alone with her, and they walked down the halls she suddenly turned around to him. “I hope you don't think, Arthur Pendragon, that just because we're married now I'm going to share your bed with you,” her chin was raised and her eyes glinting belligerently.

He blinked, he hadn't quite expected... “Uh. Morgana, I don't know if it has passed you by but one of the duties of a Queen is-”

“To produce an heir. Yes. I will be with you, once a month when the time is right.” She looked out at the moon which stood directly in front of the window, making her skin pale and her hair even darker than it normally was. “Which is not tonight. Good night, Arthur.” With that she walked down the rest of the hall, leaving him behind with what must have been a worse expression than the one he had had the first time she, a _girl_, had beat him at weapons training.

When he entered his own chambers, still somewhat taken aback, he found Merlin kneeling in front of the fireplace, scraping the ashes away and stacking new wood in it. “You don't need to do that anymore now,” he said. When hearing his voice, the other men turned around half in surprise, half in suspicion, his eyes narrowed.

“And who else is to do it? You haven't hired a new manservant yet,” the tone of his voice was quiet and easy though. “I didn't expect to see you tonight.” A fire wasn't necessary for it was warm enough, even though there were still a few chilly days this early in May.

“Well, the new Queen is...you know her,” Arthur waved off and stepped to the basin, pouring water into it to wash his face. “I hate these things.”

“Weddings? You only have to do it once yourself.”

He barked a laugh. “Yeah. No, I mean entertaining people who hate one another.”

“Such is the fate of kings,” Merlin answered with a flourished gesture which was meant to encompass Camelot and the kingdom, while pondering if he should stay. Arthur, however, didn't seem inclined to retire just yet; he however was tired enough to fall asleep standing up and since it had been pointed out to him that his wasn't a servant anymore...

“What about you?” his friend broke into his reverie.

Blinking, it took him a moment to take up the thread of discussion. “I'm not a King, Arthur, and to tell you the truth, I'm glad of it.” A King's life was, while often filled with beauty and splendour, also dangerous and boring and he really didn't strive for it; as the King's advisor he could always leave, as the King though, it was sitting there and waiting it out.

But Arthur waved that off. “I mean marriage. Find a nice girl, settle down?”

Merlin really wondered if the man might have drunk more than was good for him, or if he was putting him in this uncomfortable position out of sheer malice. He did, however, manage to keep his face from turning red all over and he said evenly, “My loyalties lie first and foremost with you. Good night, Arthur.” Not waiting for an answer, he closed the door behind him. As good-hearted as the King could be, sometimes he certainly disregarded the realities, which were that women were not flocking around him just because he was advisor to the King; and even if they had been, he had decided he wouldn't settle down with a wife. The problem, if it was to be called that, was that no matter how self-sufficient and understanding a woman was, none would understand how a man didn’t put his family first. She wouldn't understand when he said Arthur was his destiny and he would always come first, the matter of his _friend_ rather than the _King_ being of utmost importance. Also, he found the life of a bachelor, as Gaius was living it too, far more appealing, the clutter being preferential to the order and discipline a woman would bring with her (at least it had been so in his mother's household and looking at both Morgana's rooms and Gwen's home, he had doubts it would be any different).

At the foot of the stairs he paused, debating if he should look in on the new Queen. After all the years of working with Gaius, the reason why she refused to spend the night with Arthur was rather clear to him, if not to the King. Morgana's sleeping draughts were extremely potent but as often as not they did nothing against her nightmares. There had been many a night when Gwen had shook him awake because she couldn't wake her friend up, who was thrashing around in bed and in danger of hurting herself, often with her eyes open and gasping for breath. They would hold her down for as long as Gwen needed to talk her back into consciousness and he would then leave quietly, giving the two women room to recover. Merlin didn't think it would change much if Morgana shared a bed with someone, it would likely only put that person in danger of being hurt, too.

He decided against a visit eventually, assuming that even if she was still awake she might have taken her potion already and be well underway to sleep by now and there would be no need for talk when both of them were dead on their feet.

~*~

She caught up with him the next morning on their way to court. “Merlin!”

“Your majesty,” he bowed towards her and waited until she was next to him. “How are you this morning?”

Slapping him lightly against the chest and shaking her head was all the answer he got for using her new title, but it was enough to tell him what she thought of it. “Don't be silly,” she added and took his offered arm. “You don't address Arthur by his title, don't think you can get away with doing it with me.”

“Yes, my lady.” They walked a few steps in silence. “Is something on your mind?” Usually Morgana wasn't quite this late and she looked especially thoughtful.

They had almost reached the doors to the throne hall when she answered. “I was meaning to have a look at the documents on the Old Religion but didn't find them anywhere. Geoffrey of Monmouth didn't look pleased I was there at all so asking him seemed rather pointless. Do you know where they are?” The look she gave him said that there was no reason to try and deny it, she already knew.

He just nodded, shrugged. “I took them with me. There's so little left and some of it is even contradictory, I was trying to attempt to write a general summary of it, maybe find out which texts are reliable and which are not. Are you looking for something specific?” The doors of the throne hall loomed before them now, with guards posted on both sides of them, who would open the heavy oak planks once Arthur had arrived. Since today was more or less a normal day at court again, even though yesterday had been a royal wedding, he was probably still out training with the men, Merlin mused.

“No.” But the word wasn't completely out of her mouth when Morgana seemed to reconsider. “Actually, I don't know. I'm mainly curious about what those texts say, since they have been forbidden for as long as I can remember. Even talking of the old ways was taboo, when I was little at home and at court, too. So maybe I know what I am looking for when I see it, if that makes sense to you?”

He nodded. “I can relate, yes. I'll bring them to you, my notes, too, if you like, when we're done here, then?”

“That would be good, thank you.” That was the moment when Arthur showed up, hair still damp with sweat but at least he had changed out of his mail and into something that could be interpreted as kingly garb and they entered the hall. The morning was supposed to be dedicated to the lords of the realm; for petitions to be made, requests and questions to be answered and possibly to reconcile parties who were at odds with one another. None of them were actually looking forward to it but such were their duties now.

~*~

Merlin found Morgana in her rooms where she was nursing a cup of willowbark tea to stave off a headache that had befallen her during the morning. Gwen was there too, sorting clean laundry into various chests when he stepped in, doors opened magically, arms laden with the manuscripts. “Here it is,” he stated and made three stacks. “This pile on the far left here has the original documents I took from the archive. In the middle you have my notes and attempts of summaries. A lot of it is rather speculative, you'll see why when you read through the originals. The stuff on the far right is mostly texts on history I either got from the court archives or found at Gaius' place. I've been trying to add a bit of a chronology to all this up to the point when King Uther banned magic, but have had little success in doing so. Too many gaps.”

She nodded and grimaced at the bitterness of the tea. It was unlikely she would want to read this today, especially if her head was hurting now already. These suspicions were confirmed when she asked him for a short version of what he had brought and he repeated what he had told Arthur several months prior. Since then, he had mainly tried to put it all in some kind of order but that had only brought marginal success.

Sitting back, Morgana contemplated the three stacks for a while, in the meantime Gwen mentioned something about more laundry and went out. Just when Merlin decided it was time for him to leave, too, the queen spoke up. “What's the extent of your abilities?” Their eyes met and she indicated the chair across from her, it was only then that he understood that the other woman leaving had been a carefully choreographed scene and smiled.

It was short-lived, as he shook his head immediately. “If you had asked me that when Uther was still alive I would have been able to tell you in a heartbeat. Now I'm not sure anymore. I noticed it before, some of it at least, but I have the feeling that my powers have...increased, in strength, since then. It's hard to explain though, more gut feeling than certain knowledge.” Maybe it was reading up on original documents, or maybe magic fed itself by being used, now that people were free to do it again... But there still had been no incidents to speak of, it was almost as if he was the last one. Or maybe they were all still hiding.

Morgana didn't say anything for a few moments, then rubbed one hand over her forehead. “Can you see the future, Merlin?”

“I'm not a seer, no. There's been times I wish I was, but that is a talent that fails me.” She didn't say why she wanted to know but she didn't really need to. He had heard her speak sometimes, or yell, when he was helping Gwen wake her up at night; they had been nightmares indeed, but there had been times when something happened at court when he remembered what she had said. Until now, he had no idea if she knew, now however, he thought she at least must have a suspicion. He wondered if she had known about Uther's death or any of the times that Arthur had needed rescuing but he wasn't about to ask her. There must be a reason why she had told none of them about it. People had secrets, and he wasn't in a position where he could go prying into other people's lives, not after years of (albeit necessary) deception on his part.

“I'm not sure it was a good idea of Arthur to tell everyone there that it was your doing, the fall of Mercia and all,” she changed the topic and put the mug away, at last.

Oh, he could have kicked Arthur then, somewhere where it really hurt, while Morgana had looked ready to smother her husband with the silk scarf she was wearing. But the King didn't have any qualms about letting everyone know which kind of help the new 'warlock to the court' had provided at past occasions. It was maddening, for even if almost a year had gone by since the change of the law, magic was still only spoken about in undertones by everyone. “I agree,” he sighed and shook his head.

“Arthur probably thinks himself progressive and prepared for everything,” she got up and walked to the window, looking out for a moment but turned to him again fairly quickly. “He doesn't realise what kind of danger he might be getting himself into.”

It wasn't a new discussion, had been old the day Arthur sat on the throne for the first time but it never ceased to be true. The fact that the King was the best warrior in the kingdom sometimes let him disregard that he wasn't invincible. “You know him.” Even though the incident with the Questing Beast several years before had at least taught him that he was still mortal.

“Yes, Merlin, I do know him. Which is why you need to promise me to protect him. You need to look out for him. You've seen how he handles things in court, but at least he listens sometimes. Out there...,” she looked out the window again. “I can do nothing for him, it's not my place. So I need you to take care that he comes back here. Promise me, Merlin.” The look in her eyes was beseeching and he wondered if she maybe knew more than he did or if she really was just worried. It also made him realise though, that Morgana, despite everything that had and still did transpire between her and Arthur, loved her husband; maybe not in the way that tales and poetry seemed to tell of, but in a unique way that wouldn't ever waver.

And just for that realisation, he allowed himself a small, private smile. “I've been doing that since the day I got here, Morgana. I promise you. I've been ready to give my life for him, and nothing can distract me from that.” She smiled back at him and he figured that might be his cue to leave.


	11. Chapter 11

The first anniversary of Uther's death had passed without incident but that of the Fall of Mercia, as it would be recorded in the history of Camelot, was marked by two occasions. Morgana woke up with a queasy feeling in her belly and hadn't made it fully out of bed when she was already losing what was left from last night's supper in her stomach. Gwen only looked at her without a word but she didn't need to say anything either, Morgana herself knew enough about the way of things to make her suspicious, especially since this wasn't the first sign. Swearing Gwen to secrecy wasn't hard and eventually she would tell those concerned herself, she needed to be sure first, however. The second was a missive by King Harold of East Anglia, who had tried to marry his little daughter to Arthur several times, which put the King in a foul mood. The messenger was actually scared to step in front of Arthur, but finally straightened and rolled out the parchment; the little bit of courage that he seemed to possess fled his eyes as he looked at the message.

“I am profoundly sorry, your majesty, but I cannot bring myself to read this,” he handed the scroll to Merlin, who had come forward from his position behind Arthur's throne and held out a hand. His eyebrows rose as he read it, then seemed to read it again and handed it without a word to the King.

“Harold says I'm a coward who cannot win his fights without the help of his, 'despicable abomination that he calls his warlock' and says the siege in Mercia would still go on if it wasn't for treachery,” he summarised and looked at the messenger. “Your master is quite...bold.”

The poor lad stopped chewing at his lower lip and nodded nervously. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Tell him I'm more than willing to prove my prowess to him without the help of any magic,” the King said and before anyone else could utter a word, the boy had left.

Meanwhile, Morgana didn't know what to say, and just gave a curt nod for the guards and everyone but Merlin to leave them. “Are you out of your _mind_?!” she yelled loudly enough for it to echo through the hall. “Do you know what the consequences are if this doesn't play out in your favour? He can demand a duel now!”

He looked at her calmly. “I'm more than willing to fight a duel against anyone he might want to put up against me.”

“Arthur, you're not fighting duels against anyone yourself,” Merlin responded sharply but the other man just waved the argument away and shook his head.

“I'm the best fighter Camelot has, and you know it. Both of you for that matter, who are you to tell me otherwise?”

He stood up and was out the door before his wife and his friend said as if in one voice, “But you're the _King_ now!” And that was the end to the discussion.

~*~

King Harold wanted a duel indeed. On his territory. And he wanted to fight it himself too - he had said a “wimpy boy of a King who requires magic to fight” he would defeat in mere seconds. Arthur wasn't about to back down, if only because of that statement, so the result was that now, two weeks later, Morgana was standing with her arms crossed in a foreign castle and watching how Merlin went over every piece of Arthur's armour meticulously. “Stupid,” Merlin muttered. “How could you have been so stupid?”

“Nothing's going to happen,” Arthur rolled his eyes but held still until the last snap was in place.

Merlin glowered at him. “Yeah, you can say that oh so easily. I can't _help_ you in this, you know? Stay here, I'm going to get the other scabbard, the sword glides out of that much more easily.” He left the room and Morgana stepped up to her husband to straighten a wrinkle in the sleeve of his gambeson.

Looking up into his eyes, she narrowed her own. “Listen, you hot-headed kingly fool. If you lose this, I'm going to come after you into whatever underworld there is and kick your ass so hard you'll wish you had never done this.”

“Morgana, nothing is going to happen.”

“And what if something does, after all? What is going to happen to everyone at Camelot? What will happen to Merlin and to me? Do you know what they do with queens whose King has been dispatched? Especially if they carry that King's child?” Her voice was quiet, but sharp as no sword had been in Camelot in years.

The last sentence seemed to alarm him. “What?”

“I'm with child, Arthur, _your_ child, I might add. And believe me when I say, this situation is less than ideal. I'm pregnant and if I'm unlucky I'll be a widow six months after my wedding, the possible heir in my belly condemning me to the same death as my husband,” she was whispering now, not wanting anyone else to hear what she had to say.

The King inhaled sharply. “Merlin will protect you,” he whispered back urgently. Such trust, she really wished she had it.

“If you don't win, Arthur, there will be no point in me being protected,” she growled and went out the door just as Merlin was entering the room again.

~*~

They sat on a dais beneath a canopy to keep out of the perpetual drizzle. Not an ideal day for a duel, although it fit her mood surprisingly well. The now fifteen year old princess Helen was sitting next to her on the second seat of honour and she looked no less subdued than Morgana and had only greeted her with a tight smile. The girl knew the fate that would likely befall her if her father lost, if there was no one to take her in she would fall to whoever claimed her hand. Morgana herself had been lucky; Uther had been close enough friends with her father so he took her in but the princess didn't seem to be as lucky. A light touch to her shoulder let her turn around to see Merlin, who had come up behind her.

“Congratulations,” he whispered close to her ear, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

She gave him a smile despite herself. “He told you?” The man nodded and made an affirmative noise.

“It'll be fine.” His voice belied his words, he wasn't sure at all. And it was that moment that she wished for the dreams. They had stopped, as she realised later, after the day that must have marked conception. She had lied to Arthur, if only indirectly. The night he had left her to sleep in his own bed, she had one last dream, in which she was holding the most beautiful baby girl in her arms, so her sentence about a possible heir was probably not at all true. But she consoled herself that it was a white lie, to motivate her husband to actually win this duel for one more reason than just his own life and his kingdom. And his stupid honour.

In the end though, since that night, she hadn’t had another dream. It was bliss, to sleep every night and not wake up drenched in sweat or by being shaken awake by Gwen and Merlin. But right in that moment she wished for them to be back, so she would already know if this was to be Arthur's death or not. She had seen it before. Arthur's death. It had never really come true, they all probably had Merlin to thank for that, so maybe this time it would have been a false alarm, too.

“I'll be waiting at the side,” Merlin whispered to her and squeezed her shoulder gently again. However much the bond between Arthur and Merlin might annoy her sometimes, these were the moments that she knew that it was good and necessary and she wouldn't want it undone for the world.

“Merlin,” she turned to him. “Would you stay, please?” Arthur had said the warlock would protect her if necessary and she had no doubts about that. However, he needed to be visible to everyone throughout the actual fight so no one would later say he broke the rules and interfered after all. He looked like he wanted to protest but nodded eventually and stood behind her.

Arthur and Harold had by now entered the arena and the signal for the start was given. It was then that Helen reached over and took her hand, clutching it almost painfully. At first, Morgana was surprised, but the girl was only fifteen and there was no one to give any kind of support to her.

Her father's lords were probably only waiting for Harold to make a mistake so they could lay claim to her and by that to the kingdom, her mother was long dead and there were no siblings. And while Morgana was in a similar situation, she was older and she knew who of Arthur's men were behind her and who she could rely on, then there were Merlin and Gwen who would go to any length to support her if anything should happen to her husband. She was safe. But this girl... She patted the hand clutching hers reassuringly but didn't say anything. That would not become a queen and there were certain etiquettes she had to follow even if she didn't like them.

Meanwhile, the fight below them was gaining in heat. Morgana knew enough about weapons and their use to discern that at least Harold was doing nothing more than unsophisticated blows, some downward strokes, the occasional thrust or slash. There was no fluidity in his movements and she wondered when he had last enjoyed regular training. Arthur meanwhile still trained with his men every day and there were tactics behind his movements; his problem was that Harold's sword was _huge_. It was overly long and its reach artificially lengthened; it didn't let the other man get close and get his own blows in.

Whenever they locked weapons, Arthur had to back up eventually and she could see the snarl on his face, the frustration in his eyes. He was too experienced a fighter though to let that break his concentration and he danced around, tried to get Harold from behind but the other King wouldn't let him.

A continuation and repetition of this seemed to go on for an eternity; she could see how the sand was getting slicker underfoot, both men gliding on it at times, for the layer was only thin and the mud underneath made finding footing harder.

Eventually, it happened quicker than even her trained eye could see and a gasp went through the ranks, she heard Merlin inhale sharply... The next she knew, Harold was down on the floor on his back, his sword lost to him and Arthur had the tip of his own sword to the man's exposed neck, that part of the hauberk having slipped aside somehow.

“Do you yield?” Arthur asked with enough volume and clarity for it to be heard even in the last row of the stands. Harold's eyes flashed in defiance and she could sense the internal battle in him, also knew what was going on in her husband at the time. It was agony, meanwhile Helen was squeezing her hand even tighter.

“Never!” Harold finally spat and Arthur closed his eyes for the fraction of a second.

It had to be done. Everyone knew it. “So be it,” Arthur said quietly and then something else, too quiet for anyone but his adversary to hear. She wouldn't watch what happened then, she knew it well enough and had seen it too, but with her stomach not the strongest at that time, she couldn't. Helen had closed her eyes long ago already and was trying to keep her anguish to herself but her emotions were bleeding from her in torrents. Morgana knew when it had been done, the outcry among the people was sign enough. She opened her eyes again to the girl next to her and patted her hand again. Something had to be done, now; she wanted to open her mouth and say something, anything, when she heard Arthur's voice again.

“You all have been witness to the death of King Harold of East Anglia. You have been witness to his refusal to yield, even though the option was granted. Has the King named an heir prior to his death?” Silence. “In that case, Princess Helen acts as heir presumptive to the throne as the last of the blood. Since she is not of age, the throne of East Anglia falls to me, the lands fall to the kingdom of Albion. Princess Helen will be granted the right to stay in her home and lands and she will have a guardian appointed by me. Envoys will be dispatched to all nobles not present here today. Those who chose not to swear fealty to me will be dealt with accordingly. Does anyone contest this decision?” More silence. Arthur nodded and made his way towards them.

When he arrived, the smell of blood on him was overwhelming and she almost excused herself. It was only the girl at her side that let her stay. “I'm sorry about your father,” he said when he stood in front of them. “I didn't want to do this, but when he wouldn't yield he didn't leave me a choice.” Morgana knew it was the truth. Arthur wasn't a cruel man, just an impulsive one, who at times needed restraints. But he wasn't cruel.

Helen was sitting up straight. “Thank you, your majesty, for your generosity. I don't begrudge you your deeds, for it indeed was necessary. May I ask who you will appoint as my guardian?” She was only barely keeping it together, but Morgana admired her still.

Arthur shook his head. “I don't know yet. Possibly one of my own men. I'll let you know.”

Morgana got up. “Excuse me, please, I need some air.” The smell of blood was just too much. She could feel Arthur and Merlin stare at her retreating back, but they both would have to figure out why she left this suddenly on their own.

When she reached the rooms that they had been appointed - and where she shared a bed with Arthur, possibly only by the absence of her dreams - she looked out over the courtyard. Most of the people living in the castle would be gone a year from now. A castellan would be needed and Arthur was right, one of the knights would probably be the best choice, someone would need to not only take care of Helen but also see to the fortifications and the defence of the castle and the lands surrounding it. Her only hope was that all of this would turn out the way Arthur seemed to think, although she knew better. What she wasn't aware of was that her dreams had been replaced by knowledge, convictions, intuitions - not all of them empty constructs of her mind.


	12. Chapter 12

“Tell me again why we're here?” Arthur was following close behind Merlin and his voice was somewhat irritated. It was cold and the days were short, it had been freezing most nights for two weeks now, the few daytime hours filled with a never ending drizzle which made finding proper footing an adventure for both horse and man. Merlin didn't quite remember when he had last seen the sun. He and Arthur were both wrapped into several layers of clothing beneath and over their mail.

Sighing, he wrapped his arms around himself, knowing full well that it wouldn't help anything. “I didn't tell you anything. But you can tell me why I'm wearing a mailshirt.” He'd done it before and hated it then, he didn't see a point now. If anything were to happen to him, he could throw up a shield to protect himself, Arthur knew that. Stepping out from between the trees, the lake shore was directly in front of them; they were only a few hours' ride from Camelot but had left the column in the morning to take the detour Merlin had proposed. It was time to do something, he had decided, even though this wasn't exactly the best time for it. Then again, for this sort of thing there probably never would be.

“You told _me_ I was to go nowhere outside of Camelot without yourself or a guard anymore. You told me I needed protection. And if you think I'm in danger, then so are you when you're close to me, so you need to be protected as well. No protest,” he held up a hand. “I as your King have spoken. My trust in you may be unshakable, my trust in magic is not, despite what I've seen you do. Now, why are we here?”

It was probably the biggest compliment Arthur had ever delivered towards him, so he decided not to press the issue further. They'd had a huge fight back in East Anglia about the safety issue, when it had become apparent that not all lords would be willing to swear fealty as easily as it had happened in Mercia. The eventual result had been the King almost killing people with his foul mood but in the end he had agreed to at least keep Merlin with him at all times. And now they were here. “I once threw a sword made for you into this lake.” He had said it as calmly as possible but it had the expected effect.

“What?! Merlin, I knew you were a little dense, but whyever would you _do_ something stupid as that? Do you even know how much a sword costs, let alone how hard it is to find a perfectly balanced one, which is just right for you and-” It went on like that for several minutes, all the time Merlin was walking forward, Arthur following; the issue came simply down to 'why did you do it, you idiot servant?'.

“The sword was meant for you. To be wielded by only you. When someone else did, especially someone who stood against everything the sword was meant to represent, you lost the right to it. You and everyone else,” he said when the King had finally ended.

A look with a complete lack of understanding was thrown his way. “Whatever do you mean? Can we lift the sword? Maybe it's not so tarnished yet as to be unsalvageable.”

Merlin shook his head. “It's not there anymore. And what I mean is... Do you remember the Black Knight?” Arthur nodded. “No sword made by mortals can kill what's already dead. Magic can. The only way to make a sword from a mortal's forge strong enough to kill something that is already dead is burnishing it by something that isn't mortal.” He took a deep breath. “What do you know about what's below Camelot?”

“You mean the dragon?” Well, at least Uther had told his son about that much.

Merlin nodded. “When I first came to Camelot, the dragon called me.” He could see the thousands of questions building up in Arthur's eyes. “And no, I can't explain it all. It was the dragon who first told me of anything relating to destiny. It was the dragon who told me how to cure you when the Questing Beast bit you,” he thought about his mother, how she had looked that time she had come to find him after falling terminally ill from the course. He remembered Nimueh. “But the dragon also mostly talked in riddles. I haven't been down there in years, and I think he's dead. He's not been calling and after...,” he heaved a deep sigh, “after our last encounter, I'm not going to check.” He could see that his friend was curious as to that but he didn't pry.

“What about the sword?” Arthur would probably take his weapons to bed, if it hadn't been beaten out of him when he was still a boy (and if he didn't want to fear being injured at night). “Where is it, if not here?”

“What do you know about the Sidhe?”

“Fairies,” Arthur's nose wrinkled. “You know what my father thought of magic. Why?”

Merlin wouldn't meet his eyes. “I don't know much myself. I know their world is different, and yet not, from ours. I know they live for such a long time that it seems forever compared to our short life spans. They're a people, not exactly fairies, nor are they exactly magic... Nothing here seems familiar?”

He could feel his friend's eyes on him but kept his own face averted, his own eyes closed. He didn't know if he really wanted to do this. But there were too many secrets he kept from Arthur already, things he couldn't possibly explain because all the reasons, all the interconnections were beyond his knowledge. Some things, he didn't know, did only suspect, but those things weren't his to share or to keep. He thought of Nimueh again.

“Should it?”

Merlin told him about Sophia then. What had happened, what he had seen, done. What she had done. Arthur listened without a word and was quiet for a long time after.

All Merlin could do was keep walking and hope for the best. There had been a lot of tension between them since Morgana left to go back home. The proceedings in East Anglia had been dragging on, oaths of fealty were harder to come by than Arthur had hoped, although Merlin supposed the man had half expected it. History taught that many of the East Anglian nobles were descended from Saxons, which had invaded the isles around the time the Old Religion had started to slowly die; therefore the ties between East Anglia and all other kingdoms were much weaker than those of Mercia had been, they didn't like to be subordinate under a new King descended from Romans and Britons. There had been a few skirmishes, a few fights. A guardian for Helen had to be found, who would also be able to hold the lands (Sir Palamedes), and what seemed like a million little odds and ends. What had been estimated to be just a few weeks had turned into almost two months and everyone's nerves were rubbed raw now, with having to be focused and on top of their game at all times; glad that the Queen had gone on home and she didn't need to be looked out for, too.

“Arthur, say something already,” it was unnerving, the silence he could hold forever in the worst moments. Arthur was one of the most impulsive men he had ever met, and even though his courage, his bravery, his drive to protect made up for his hot headedness in part, there were times when Merlin worried just as much as Morgana seemed to. And then there were moments when Arthur would suddenly turn thoughtful, introspective and say the most wondrous of things.

“I never believed for a second that _you_ could knock me out and bring me all the way back to Camelot!” he grinned and even though he didn't feel like it at all, the relief let Merlin give a little laugh as well. They quickly sobered though when Arthur nodded at the water's surface, eerily calm despite the light wind and the drizzle. “So, this lake...?”

“One of the entrances to the realm of the Sidhe. We're leaving them alone, Arthur,” he emphasised the last sentence but the King had already waved off with one of his 'Yes, Merlin's.’

They stared at each other for more than a minute, Merlin sceptical, Arthur with the stubborn set of his jaw that made him look so much like Uther, until he narrowed his eyes. “Since we're alone now, you might want to know that I was approached by some of the druids,” he said quietly and resumed walking. When he noticed that his friend wasn't following though, he turned around. Merlin stood as if rooted to the spot. “What is it?”

The warlock shook his head as if to clear it and closed the distance between them. “Nothing. When was this?” Arthur trudged on through the mud of the lake shore. This was hell on his boots, he just knew it, but it was simply too cold to stay in one spot. The fact that now his boots needed to be cleaned and all his clothes needed to be washed reminded him it was high time to get a new manservant. Or a squire. Or both, even, although magic had, as had been shown to him enough times, quite practical uses, his armour had seldom been cleaner or better sanded, candles and fireplaces never illuminated rooms more quickly.

“The day before we left,” he answered. They had come through the gates and stopped in front of him. Those people had been familiar to him, the men he had delivered Mordred to, the boy had been with them as well, grown considerably, but he hadn't said a single word. “A bunch of old guys and Mordred, the boy we saved.” A pair of blue eyes was watching his back with almost palpable intensity. “I was just instructing the men and they just waited until I was finished, rather took a break because they were making them nervous. Can you imagine it, more than a year after magic being a part of life in this land again, you're one of the most powerful sorcerers ever and live at court and seasoned men get nervous at the sight of a few druids?”

“Things like these need time, Arthur. You can't expect everyone to adopt the same view you have after they have been told that magic is an abomination for more than twenty years,” Merlin's voice was tense all of a sudden but it was probably just one of the times when he got uncomfortable talking about magic. And he was probably right, none of those people really _knew_ Merlin; most of them had known him as a servant or not even paid attention to him even when their friendship had become obvious. But none of them had seen him kneel in front of Arthur the night after his crowning, heard him pledge his loyalty and his life to his friend, not the King in Camelot but to _him_, Arthur, seen those clear eyes and his raised head (Merlin was probably the only person aside from Morgana who had never bowed his head in front of him). They didn't know this man, they didn't know _magic_.

And that was the reason why he conceded. “Maybe. Anyway, what was I saying?”

“Druids.”

“Right. When I went to them and one of them said, the oldest, the only one who had spoken to me that other time too. He thanked me for lifting the ban on magic but said they could not be loyal subjects to me, because I was not _their_ King. Whatever that means. Oh and he wanted me to pass on greetings to my warlock, I suppose that's you, and tell you there would yet be one more occasion. Any idea what they meant by that? Because he wouldn't answer that question and then they van- Merlin?”

Merlin had gone colder inside than all the previous nights had been and his right hand was now clamped around Arthur's wrist in a way that would have to be painful even for him. He remembered what the dragon had hinted at, that Mordred would be the reason for him (and likely Arthur, too) not fulfilling his destiny. Whatever the boy would do one day, or had done already... But certainly, not everything the dragon ever said could come true. That was his hope. The druids were a peaceful people who lived according to the Old Religion or were assumed to do so or whatever. That was his second hope. But if they could just get to Arthur that easily...and he hadn't been around, he could have done nothing whatsoever, had they had bad intentions. “Arthur. If ever that happens again, if ever they come looking for you again, you come to me. Immediately.” He knew he was begging and assuming a tone no one should with a King; humiliating himself didn't matter now, though. His friend didn't know the stakes, couldn't know them, but here and now he couldn't tell him, either, what was he to say 'the dragon implied that boy might kill you and I would not be able to prevent it'? What a joke. Even Arthur, who had learned to listen at least a little after all this time, would declare him mad for this.

“What did you say a couple of years ago? 'That's very melodramatic', wasn't it?” They had gone back to the horses, dark was falling quickly and getting back home was prominent on their minds.

“I'm just worried for your safety, you big royal prat,” he added with a murmur that he thought was too faint for the other man to hear, while he sorted out his stirrups. Arthur appeared in his line of sight, on the other side of his mare, and shook his head.

“I know that, idiot,” he said intently but there was no heat in the insult. “But I can look out for myself.”

Yes, Merlin was sure of that. When it came to sword or axe, the King certainly could hold more than his own but he was ignorant towards the dangers of magic. But maybe that was the role of a warlock to the court too, to protect his sovereign from his own courage.

~*~

The mug crashed against the wall and shattered into a thousand pieces. “How dare she claim something like that? For all I care she can rot in the dungeons!” the King yelled so loudly that it echoed in the hall. Everyone else had been sent out or left of their own accord, for King Arthur was infamous for the volume his voice could reach in a fit of rage such as this; there were quite a few servants who claimed they had been deafened by it. Morgana had not even attended court because she wasn't feeling well enough, so it was only Merlin who stood by and watched.

The 'she' in question was a woman from one of the outlying regions, who claimed her daughter had been hurt so badly during primae noctis that her husband had repudiated her after. It probably would have been a non-issue, if she hadn't claimed that King Uther had sanctioned the custom many years ago, and it had never been a problem, but now the girls all returned hurt in some way, some only had abrasions, others had cuts or welts as if from whips; they all had in common that they didn't talk of anything that had happened.

Arthur was still raving in different versions of 'how dare she', but all Merlin had so far been able to deduce that, as far as the King was concerned, ius primae notcis had never been sanctioned by Uther, would never have been sanctioned by Uther, who had no regard whatsoever for what he had called a barbarian custom. King Cendred had never made a comment about it, as far as Merlin knew, and some lords in his lands still practised it, others did not. The warlock watched a while longer until his liege had finally calmed down and just sat his throne with an expression of extreme displeasure. “Have you considered she may not be lying?” The look he received spoke of such a high grade of disbelief that Merlin knew, no, his King had not considered that possibility.

“Are you out of your mind? My father would never have done something like that, and if so, I would have known!”

“I'm not saying-” But Arthur had already gotten up and started pacing.

“Are you calling me a liar? Or my father a barbarian, huh? Or are you suggesting he sanctioned it without me knowing and just for that region? Because have you seen anyone else ever complaining about it? Probably that daughter of hers got herself all tied up in knots over someone who isn't her husband and needed an excuse for not being a virgin anymore. Or possibly-” Now the man was yelling at him and it was just too much.

“Arthur! Would you shut up already and sit down on that throne of yours and keep your peace?” he shouted back and added a noise of annoyance for good measure. His friend stared at him.

Then his eyes narrowed. “How dare you speak to your King, do you even know who I am?”

“Oh, I know who you are. And I told you before, you're my _friend_ before you are anything else, much less the King! But do you even realise how irrational you're being right now? I never said I thought your father sanctioned this! But those girls are getting hurt _somehow_, are they not?” Sometimes, he wondered if it was even worth it, trying to get through to the man once he had made up his mind. And then he would suddenly show brilliance in some matter where Merlin had never thought possible. This was probably not one of these times, though.

At least his majesty finally sat down, though with arms crossed over his chest “And what _are_ you saying then?”

“People lie.” How they could go from yelling at one another to comparably calm tones was one of the things that Merlin thought made the relationship between them special.

“That's what I was saying, too,” Arthur frowned and relaxed a little.

Merlin shook his head. “No. I didn't mean that poor woman you had thrown into the dungeons. I was down there for a few minutes earlier and she said the old Lord Patton had sent messengers to read that law many years ago and ever since, girls had been taken up to the estate for it once in a while. The girls never talked much of it but the old man seemed to treat them well enough. Then the old lord died and now his son is sitting there executing his rights and in the last few months, the girls have come back hurt, he also takes many more than his father did,” he explained. People lied. Arthur knew that, had found it out painfully enough.

“The House of Patton has been loyal to our line for I don't know how long!” the King exclaimed, tone almost insulted. “The young lord has sworn fealty to me, you were at the ceremony yourself.”

“So I was. And the fact that he has sworn fealty to _you_ does not mean has to do right by the people who are standing below him.” He sighed. The King himself had not been an incarnation of niceness when they had fist met, he remembered how he had used a poor lad for moving target practise. “And just because _you_ can't lie to save your life doesn't mean other people don't do it regularly.” Arthur looked at him defiantly. They both knew this to be true, still, it had to be a hassle for a sovereign to know one of his lords was abusing the privileges of his standing like this.

“I'll have someone look into it,” the King finally conceded after several minutes of silence.

“And let the woman out of the dungeon.”

“You do know that _I_ am the King here, yes?” Merlin wasn't sure that batting his lashes had any effect on Arthur (who never would have rolled his eyes, he was too well bred for that) other than giving him a bad imitation of the milkmaid, who had a huge crush on the King as the whole castle knew, but he still tried it.

In the end it turned out that young Lord Patton had acquired sexual tastes that even Arthur, who was not shy of experiments in this direction, found dubious had let him look a little skew-eyed. Since there was no law regarding sexual practises, however, he was just given the severe warning to act out his tastes only with consenting partners and was relieved of a fraction of his land to make the warning stick. Ius primae noctis was publicly renounced in the whole kingdom, as ordered by his majesty the King, and the people were encouraged to take any complaints directly to Camelot, should it happen again. Merlin didn't know if he was supposed to be happy, several girls had gotten gotten hurt over this after all, but he definitely thought this had been at least a satisfying end. Arthur just looked smug, as if it had all been his idea. Well. He was the King, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ius primae noctis was never officially sanctioned by any monarch, even though it is an often used plot device in movies (Braveheart, anyone?) and literature and first became popular in the 19th century. That is not to say thought that liegen lords didn't often make use of it despite that. [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ius_primae_noctis) has an article on it. Arthur theoretically knows what's going on in his kingdom, practically he doesn't quite have a clue, though. He's young though, he'll learn.  
> That said, now he knows about Sophia and about Excalibur; I debated lifting it but decided against that in the end, it works as a sacrifice to the Sidhe. I extrapolated that the lakes from the two episodes were the same, of course, but it seemed logical to me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note regarding placement in time: I tried to keep as close to reality as possible but I took a few liberties that also were part of the show (glassware, for example, was not present abundantly until rather late into the high middle ages). However, I did try to research matters such as wound treatment, food and travel times or names of knights and legends regarding them a little more closely. Then again, this is fanfic and the show is not exactly shy of anachronisms. Since we do not get a direct hint regarding the time either, I took liberties there as well.  
> The set is sometime in the 11/12th maybe early 13th century as far as building styles, cloth-material and the like are concerned. Politically and possibly historically, the set is sometimes in the 8th century, in all likelihood. I cut a good many kingdoms from the map to begin with, such as Wessed, Essex and the like, although I suppose they exist as duchies or whatever; I did keep some of the historical counties, however. This is long after the Saxon invasions, hence a few Anglo-Saxon namings, and long after the Normans actually should have stopped raiding the British coast (although that did happen all the time in history one way or other); consequently most things Saxon are encompassed by East Anglia, the Saxons first settled in that region and went over the isle from there so I decided to make it easier on myself and on the reader. I could have placed a whole political system right along with the story but I decided it would add too much confusion without supplying an actual map.  
> William the Conquerer never happened (despite hinting at illegitimate sons sitting on the throne earlier), the country isn't unified as Arthur sets out to rule and a whole bunch of kings were cut from history, such as the whole Danish monarchy that settled in Britian. I read up on all of this to refresh my memory when it started to look like this would be a story of epic proportions and decided to change history some. In return, I tried to place everything in a correct context relating to one another, talking of ancestors and descendants later.  
> Enough with the history, now on with the story :)

A middle aged woman emerged from Morgana's bedroom just as he was about to knock and he recognised her as one of the midwives from the village. She didn't look too happy and muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like an insult.

“Merlin, is that you?” he heard Gwen's voice from inside and she was at the door, beckoning him in. “We've been waiting.” Pointing down the hall, he inquired after the woman. “She's the third midwife Morgana has dismissed in as many months, I think they're all gossiping among themselves already about demon spawns and the like.”

“They're all complaining I'm too thin and look at me!” Morgana sighed, sitting on a chair with her feet elevated and one hand on her rounded belly. She was in her sixth month and while her fingers were indeed somewhat slender, her face wasn't in the least haggard. “All I do is eat all day.”

Merlin smiled and sat down across from her. “The look suits you.”

“Don't joke, I'm trying to be serious here,” she smiled back though. It was true, pregnancy did make a woman more beautiful and if she just had a midwife, it all would be easier. “I'm glad you came.”

“What's wrong with the midwives? They're just trying to help, you know? And what's that demon spawn nonsense?” For a woman who had seen hundreds, if not thousands of babies being born in her life to call one demon spawn that had not even seen the light of the world was a bit drastic. And besides, this was the first born child of the King and Queen, insults were practically unheard of (even though he was convinced that the nurses responsible for Arthur had cursed him more often than praised him).

The Queen shook her head and looked skywards in annoyance for a moment. “That's part of why I called you. Give me your hand,” she reached out one arm and he grabbed her slender fingers, her other hand stroked over her belly. Gwen looked at them and seemed to hold her breath, while he didn't understand what was the matter at all. Morgana's hands were comfortably cool but not cold, her skin pale, and he let his gaze wander between both women until she let go. “See,” the Queen said to her maid, “told you so.”

He still didn't understand a word. “Would one of you be so kind to tell me what's going on here?”

Gwen sighed. “Whenever one of the midwives touched her, the baby starts kicking wildly but will stop as soon as they get away from Morgana. The only people the baby seems to accept touching Morgana seem to be his majesty, Gaius, you and me.”

Morgana nodded. “I told Arthur this morning and he murmured something about having midwives from all over the kingdom come,” so that was the reason for the King's foul mood this morning, “but I have a feeling that things are not going to change any. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I mean aside from wanting to see you anyway.” A smile played on her lips. “What do you know about giving birth, Merlin?”

He still had no idea what they actually wanted with him, so he just shrugged. “I'm a country boy, I probably have seen more children being born than you ever will. With all due respect.” His mother knew some midwifery (like almost all country women did) and even though men were usually excluded from births, no one had ever made a fuss over him being present so he knew a little himself, but only what he could observe from a safe distance. Women in labour were scary.

“So that's settled then,” both women nodded at each other and it almost seemed like they were breathing a little easier. To him, though, it seemed like he had missed something crucial.

“What is settled?”

“You'll be attending me at birth,” the Queen smiled brilliantly and reached out to stroke over his cheek, not flustered by his baffled look at all. “You have a few more months to learn what you can and I'd be grateful if you did.”

“But...” Arthur would have him beheaded. Or something. He was pretty sure that attending the Queen in her birthing chamber was not something a warlock to the court should do. Ever. “But why me?”

“Because the baby doesn't make a fuss when you touch me. And because you just said, you know about the actual birth. Gaius may be court physician but he hasn't attended a birth yet, so that will be left to you.” She looked at him with an expression of 'can you do it?' and he just sighed and nodded. He would spend so much time in the stocks for that, he could feel the rotten fruits hit already.

~*~

He slipped back into her bedroom later that night when the castle had quieted down and the world outside had been swallowed by darkness. “Is something the matter, Merlin?” she asked while looking out the window into the courtyard. The dreams were still absent and it wasn't that she had any problems falling asleep but she had gotten so used to her vigils late in the evening that she was reluctant to give them up.

“You seemed a little worried this afternoon,” his disembodied voice sounded and then a few tentative steps coming closer. She smiled into the direction she knew he stood, knowing full well that he could see her in the moonlight falling through the window; it was an effect that had even made Arthur beg on his knees once to come to bed, although it was probably somewhat diluted by the baby belly now.

“How are you going to explain it if Arthur catches you here at this time of night?” Nothing would happen. Her husband would not even get the _idea_ that Merlin of all people could be sneaking into her bedroom for illicit purposes behind his back; sometimes she wondered if his gullibility only extended to his former servant (and possibly herself) or if it encompassed others, too. On the heels of that thought usually followed the hope that he had less faith in people when it came to the battlefield.

“His majesty is fast asleep in bed,” the warlock had come up to her and raised a hand to point at her middle. “May I?” Taking her own hands away she followed his with her eyes as it splayed over her belly and then looked into his face to see the wonder spread there when he felt movements. It was the same expression Arthur had worn the first time she had taken his hand and let him feel it and she knew, all her worries should have dissipated by then.

“You are quite sure of Arthur's whereabouts aren't you?” The tone was soft, as if the baby had been born already and was sleeping in a cradle.

Merlin took his hand away again and leaned against the wall next to the window. “Very much so,” he confirmed. Tilting her head she wondered if her friend or her husband knew how much the two of them resembled each other sometimes in their gestures. It hadn't been like that a few years ago but now...the more they became the men they were meant to be, the closer they seemed to get in their behaviour, on some levels. On others...like fire and ice. Then again, _she_ would always be able to distinguish them, no matter how similar their manners got.

Shaking her head she turned to the window again. “I just keep wondering why it won't let anyone else touch me without starting to kick so hard I can't breathe anymore. And.” Catching herself there was a near thing and probably not even necessary. This was _Merlin_, who probably had carried more secrets than anyone his age should. And that was why she made herself go on. “And I'm wondering what Arthur will say if this baby is a girl and not a boy.”

The silence would have been maddening if she hadn't seen the warlock shake his head in her peripheral vision. “Morgana, I don't think you need to concern yourself with that. Get through childbirth and Arthur won't care about the gender of the baby. Not with the way he's already talking to it.” It was true, when they were alone the King talked more to the child than to her these days, telling it so many adventures and so often that she was sure it would have heard all of them ten times before even being born. “He'll put a sword in his or her hands as soon as he or she can walk, just wait.”

They grinned at each other. Both Morgana and Arthur had been raised by fathers who had been warriors themselves, and even though she had had governesses who tried to make sure she would turn in to a good and suitable girl, she always liked looking at the weapons training more than knitting or stitching or even castle gossip. Gorlois had finally given her a wooden sword after she had annoyed him enough and let her do some exercises. When Uther had taken her in he had encouraged her to keep at it until a certain age, then she had started to sneak out with Gwen, keeping up her foot- and bladework. She hated handiwork to this day and was rather glad she didn't have to make all the baby clothes herself now; one of the perks of being Queen.

“I don't know,” Merlin continued, “why it kicks whenever someone else touches you. Maybe you're subconsciously uncomfortable and the baby feels that. We'll all help, no worries.”

“I'm not worried,” she sighed. “I'll just be glad when this little one here is born, safe and sound.”

~*~

He was dressed and ready by the second his door opened quietly, probably so as to not wake Gaius who slept in the front room. “Merlin,” Gwen whispered.

Looking up, he nodded and grabbed the satchel. “I know. Go, go!” But Gwen had been faster than him, she was out the physician's rooms in a flash and led him up the stairs to Morgana's rooms. The baby had dropped two weeks ago, settling low in the Queen's belly and she claimed that her breathing was easier now. Unfortunately, as far as Merlin could tell, it hadn't turned and was lying in breech position; he knew his mother had used a technique once, on a young girl whose baby hadn't turned but he couldn't reproduce it. Instead, he had used his magic. It was a try and a risky one but the only thing he actually could do without getting a midwife to do it, that the baby didn't tolerate. Gwen had suggested in a quiet minute that maybe this was exactly the reason why it wouldn't let anyone but them touch Morgana but he thought it was a shaky explanation. Arthur hadn't exactly threatened him with the block when he had learned of it but it was a close thing.

Now it seemed her water had broken. Merlin had sat upright in bed suddenly and _known_. “She's progressing very fast, I've never seen it like this,” Gwen panted as she reached the top of the stairs, running. There was a thump from Morgana's rooms and then they were through the door and his first look went to the floor where Arthur lay sprawled.

“What's he doing here?” Merlin asked and pulled and shoved the man out of the way to make room.

Morgana panted, her usually pale face red and grimacing with pain, her hair pulled together at the back. “Idiot King wanted to be there.”

Merlin muttered about people who could see all kinds of blood and gore and horrors on the battlefield but couldn't face the realities of life and checked the man over quickly. “He'll come around.” And then it was all too fast. Morgana was indeed far along already and he wondered about that but he didn't really have time. She started yelling though, mostly things that didn't make sense at all, Arthur's name many times. But her eyes were empty, they weren't pleas for the Arthur in her room to wake up. Then his own name. Morded's name. Lots of pleas, lots of negations. Something had happened in the Queen's mind and Merlin just hoped she would snap out of it again.

In between he also had an eye out for Arthur, yelling for him, while Gwen held Morgana's hand and just talked to her, too. It was all a mess and then suddenly he held a baby in his hands, the head had come out first, all normal. It was a girl and she was crying even though the air wasn't cold. Awareness returned to her mother's eyes but Morgana just lay there then, breathing heavily but still extended her arms.

Smiling, Merlin lay the little girl on her chest and let Gwen deal with the rest. They had read up on proper procedure but hadn't expected Arthur to be around...or rather to be lying on the floor. The warlock unceremoniously dumped a full carafe of water on his head and watched as his friend came around with a gasp. “You _are_ a royal prat,” he sighed and extended his hand to help the King up. “But now you're father of a beautiful little girl. Come on, do what you have to.”

It didn't take long until Morgana was asleep and the designated wetnurse had been called. Arthur only left reluctantly, but he did, watched as Merlin cleaned himself up outside. “You can't tell anyone,” he admonished.

The warlock looked up at him tiredly. “You konking out? I'm keeping secrets worse than that for you, Arthur. And besides, that is exactly the reason why husbands are not allowed in there normally. Let that be a lesson for the next time.” When he gathered his tunic from the floor he knew that it had to be washed, didn't even serve for drying off anymore. “Fancy sharing a drink? I can't go to sleep now.” His friend nodded and proceeded to tell him about the feast he was planning a week from then, to honour his daughter (who was as yet nameless but that didn't seem to concern him too much), while Merlin's thoughts circled around the things Morgana had yelled during the birth. Nothing of it made sense, except Arthur's name in connection with his own and Mordred's; but he didn't like to think about what that might mean.

~*~

 

The feast was grand and splendid in a way that Camelot hadn't seen in living memory (or so Geoffrey of Monmouth told him for the tenth time now, the old man was well and truly drunk) and went on long into the night of its first day. Two more days were to follow, even though the guest of honour, Isabella, had only been brought out the morning of the first one for everyone to see her and for her naming declaration. Arthur knew, he should have been less happy about a girl, he needed an heir after all and a girl just couldn't inherit the throne, but all he could feel was the happiness bubbling over in him that his daughter had been born safely and Morgana was still all right. They were young, they would have more children.

Isabella would receive the same education as any son of his one way or the other. It had been made rather clear to him, by Morgana when she had been just over three months pregnant and Gaius and the midwife at the time was sure the pregnancy would keep, that there was no way in this life he would hire a castle full of governesses and keep a possible princess under their watchful eye until she was old enough to be married to someone. That had been the moment he had learned how scary pregnant women could be. But if their daughter only had the slightest bit in common with her mother, she wouldn't let herself be kept in the castle anyway, he was more than aware of that.

He himself had driven more than one of his tutors to desperation, for he could be found everywhere in the castle or the surrounding village but not where he was expected. More than once, he had received a stern talking to by his father, who usually didn't bother about him in his earliest memories, for that reason. That had been up until the day his father thought it was necessary to introduce him into the workings of state and war. Their relationship had changed significantly then, in some ways it had gotten colder even, and Uther had lost much of the grandeur and splendour he had held in the stories.

Surveying the room showed him mostly familiar faces. Only a few of the nobles had found their way to the celebration (after all, this was not an heir apparent born) but inviting them had mainly been a formality on his side anyway. The feast was for the people of Camelot, servants and merchants, craftsmen and maids alike. He knew many of them by sight, if not by name, had grown up either under their watchful eyes or watching them as they were children from afar, wondering why he wasn't allowed to play with them. He had learned that the existence of standings was important in the world he lived in but he had also recognised that just because people weren't on equal standing with him they were trash and interchangeable. Even though it had taken him a while to truly realise that.

Merlin yawned next to him, a sure sign that his friend wanted to leave already. But before he did that, there was one last thing he had yet to accomplish. “Hey Merlin, do me a favour?”

“Sure?” his friend answered and swallowed the rest wine from his cup.

Nodding across the room, he directed the attention away from him. “Ask that girl over there to dance. She's been trying to get you to look at her all evening, and it would be too sad if she left without having succeeded.” He wouldn't _order_ Merlin to do something like that of course, but he had noticed hours ago how she kept looking over the rim of her cup, trying to catch the eye of the warlock; she was a maid in the guest quarters, Arthur thought. Merlin rolled his eyes (a habit that he really needed to lose) but bowed mockingly and made his way over. He must have said something funny for the girl laughed at him but then the King was distracted by the court historian, who again told him how splendid the feast was.

Arthur never saw his friend again that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Arthur is not pimping Merlin out to the maids ;)  
> Merlin fails as midwife, clearly. A note in regards to that: Once babies have dropped (lightened) they don't turn around on their own anymore. There are indeed a few techniques used by midwives to encompass that, although I don't exactly know if they were known back in the day. I extrapolated that much.  
> It is anachronistic to refer to Isabella as a princess, I'm aware of that, but roll with me here. It's Camelot, some things are different here than in other places *g* Considering that 'bella' can mean either 'beautiful' or 'wars' in Latin, one has to wonder what Arthur had in mind when he made the decision over his daughter's name, though.


	14. Chapter 14

“I'm not travelling with an infant, the risk is too high,” Morgana refused and crossed her arms over her chest to indicate that it was her last word on the matter. “Do you even know how long it takes to get there by carriage? I'll look after Camelot, you go and do your joyride.”

Arthur threw her a look which told her exactly that yes, he knew how long it was by carriage and whatever did she think was a 'joyride'? Merlin had to swallow a chuckle that threatened to escape him and set the cradle positioned between his friends rocking again with a stray thought. They were discussing the message that had arrived by envoy today, which had surprised all of them. No one had expected King Cendred to congratulate Arthur to the birth of his first child and the invitation to visit his court was most surprising as well.

“I still wonder why he would do that,” the King pondered with one eye on the little girl. She was three months old now and if anyone asked him, he would say she had doubled in size and weight but Morgana said he was mad. Their bickering was worse than ever and Merlin really didn't know if he should be annoyed or make fun of them with Gwen; most days he went with the latter.

“Maybe he wants to see if you plan to invade Northumbria as well,” he now suggested, which made Arthur just glower at him. “What? The last two Kings you had any kind of contact with you deposed and made their territory your own.”

“I think the kingdom is big enough as it is. I need days to reach the farthest edges of it. I keep wondering how my ancestors managed ruling almost the whole world when they couldn't travel it quickly,” by his ancestors Merlin supposed he meant the Roman Emperor way back somewhere in his line. “Adding Northumbria would be a nightmare.”

The warlock nodded. “You say that but Cendred doesn't know that. All he knows is there are now only three big kingdoms left on the isles where there were five not three years ago. It's understandable that he wants to reassure himself.” Ealdor was in Northumbria but he didn't know much about King Cendred, aside from the laws that had been passed in his lifetime. If he was honest, he wasn't too keen on meeting him either, Cendred had denied help to his village when bandits had raided it, after all.

“So we'll go there and I'll reassure the man that I'm not interested in his lands?”

“You'll go there,” Merlin corrected him and got up to throw another log onto the fire. The days were brilliantly warm but at night a chill crept into the rooms already and he really didn't want for the baby to fall sick. “I'll be visiting my mother for a while. You can collect me when you're returning here.”

“Don't want to meet your former sovereign?” Arthur grinned. He knew everything about what had happened in the village, he had been there and helped defeat the bandits after all; he couldn't let that colour his opinion on King Cendred however, before they had even met once. He had offered to at least let Merlin's mother come to Camelot and settle there for good since he certainly couldn't move the whole village, but Hunith had just thanked him for the consideration but she'd like to stay.

“Not particularly,” he just shook his head and in his mind was already drafting a letter to his mother that he would be visiting her until the King saw it fit to rule in his castle again.

~*~

Arthur had forgotten how dull banquets could be. When he had still been a prince he always had snuck away halfway through, when everyone was sufficiently drunk and didn't notice his absence. When he was still younger there always was a guard around with whom he could play Tabula for an hour or two, no matter if in Camelot or in another abode, and in recent years, after he had been made Crown Prince and sneaking away would have been noted, Morgana and Merlin had always been around to talk with. But now at this foreign court in Northumbria, he was the King of Albion and there was no way he could leave unseen...and neither his wife nor his former manservant were around and his new squire (Sir Kay's son) just stood around as if someone had rammed a stick down his spine. He didn't really need a squire. But he was King and it was more a formality than anything else; the boy was mostly fetching and carrying, which regularly sent him into seething fits of anger when he thought no one saw him.

Merlin had been safely delivered to his mother, who had been overjoyed to see him (and Arthur both, she still called both of them 'boys' which he normally would have protested but she was saying it with so much affection that he didn't have the heart to) but less happy about the five knights who had accompanied them, it seemed that many people on horseback riding into a village the size of Ealdor was frowned upon, even if they wore the colours of Camelot. The warlock had finally shoved him out of the village, saying that if he didn't leave right that second he would magick him out. Arthur had severe doubts that he could but didn't want to provoke such action either, although he would have much preferred to stay with Hunith and her son. Especially after the speech Morgana had sent him off with, she even almost made a list of topics to avoid until he had reminded her that yes, he had actually been raised as a prince and not as a fool and knew all that. She hadn't been convinced, he had seen it in the raised eyebrow that had been his answer.

He was beginning to understand why some men didn't remarry when they had lost their wife.  
Sighing, he held his goblet out to be refilled; the wine was good at least, even if it did feel a little colder in the area. King Cendred drank his wine extremely watered and Arthur assumed that he either had a delicate stomach or didn't dare getting drunk in front of his guest for worry he might take the opportunity for a coup. Arthur didn't really know how to dissipate that idea should it really have lodged into the man's brain because saying it outright just might backfire. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

“You have magnificent horses, they seem ideal for the territory,” Arthur stated when they left the stables and walked out among the pastures a few days later. The time since his welcome feast had mostly been filled with displays of Cendred's prowess, making him more or less sure Merlin had been right with his evaluation of the man's motives. That didn't help him, Arthur, however in finding a solution to his problem of making him understand that Northumbria was safe as long as there were no acts of aggression towards Albion from beyond its borders.

It was easier with King Baylad, who had sent him a missive a few months after he had taken the throne (probably waiting for a grace period after Uther's death) telling him blatantly that if he tried to take he western isles he would be crushed. Morgana had laughed for about a minute and said he had actually managed to make an impression this early on and he had just answered that the Fall of Mercia had followed an act of harm and invited Baylad to Camelot. The other King had declined thankfully, after which Merlin remarked that he had probably seen enough of Camelot the last time he had been there, he had even gotten to admire the dungeons.

“They are indeed,” Cendred answered and after a movement of his hand, the guards receded behind them.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. “You don't plan to have me assassinated here, do you?”

“No,” the older man smiled. “There's easier ways to do that but I'm truly not interested. Relations between your father and me were friendly and I expect they will be similar with you.” They walked for a while in silence, Cendred seemed almost smug (Arthur was sure he would have liked to call him 'my boy') while Arthur pondered this. “You didn't bring your warlock, I was surprised. I heard you usually don't go anywhere without him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Cendred shrugged. “Nothing in and by itself. Believe me, I know how difficult it is to find people who give counsel without thinking about their personal gain first. But there is talk.”

The younger man looked over. “And what kind of talk?” They were still striding along. Arthur was used to this kind of talk, he had done it countless times with said warlock but it was different still, with Merlin he usually didn't play cat and mouse. Cendred had something for him, he could see it in that confident stride, the almost smug smile and it annoyed Arthur to no end.

“Did I mention your father and I were friendly?”

“Yes, my lord, you did. I only remember playing at sword with your sons once, when I was about six years old. I don't think we have met since then, but my father never said anything let me think you didn't get along.” Diplomacy was a lot like dancing...but it reminded him that he had stepped on Morgana's toes the first time he had tried dancing with her at thirteen.

The other man made an affirmative noise and stopped to lean on the fence that was running along on their left, then looked casually towards where the guards still stood, well out of earshot. “I have a cousin in what used to be East Anglia,” he finally murmured. “Lord Ban?”

Arthur's eyebrows had risen. “I know him, he was one of the first to respond to my demand for the fealty oath,” he responded just as quietly.

“He would,” the other man nodded, “King Harold did not treat all of his nobles...accordingly, to put it mildly. Ban knew your father when he was still a boy. You hadn't been born yet.” Lord Ban wasn't as young as Cendred made him out to be, closer to his father's age than to Arthur's own but he didn't say anything. “However. People are talking. Some of those nobles are suspicious. They say your warlock made you lift the ban on magic your father had imposed so he could become a noble himself. They say you treat servants too generously, bestowing positions upon them they don't deserve. Your warlock is a commoner, is he not?” The smile that was now on his face was not smug anymore, it might almost be called benign.

It took Arthur a moment to swallow the laugh that threatened to explode out of him. As if _Merlin_ would make him to do anything for his personal benefit. “'My warlock', as you put it, is indeed from a small village just outside the borders of Albion. My father rewarded him with the position as my manservant for saving my life when I was still just heir apparent.” It was actually rather difficult to make an outsider understand what Merlin meant to him without making himself appear to be vulnerable. “If he really had wanted to influence anyone, he could have just magicked my father, no need to wait for me to become King. If not for that accident, that could have taken decades, he was in excellent health, after all.”

The other man actually chuckled. “So my cousin said, too.” He took up walking again. “I just thought it was something you should know.”

“And what do you expect in return from me?”

Looking over, Cendred nodded approvingly. “You may be a young King but you know how to hold the reins, don't you?”

“I wasn't raised to walk on eggshells, my lord.” Why did everyone assume that he had not paid attention when his father did his diplomatic talking? His light hair and blue eyes fooled many people (especially older women around the town) into thinking he was 'adorable' and started gushing more such nonsense (had ever since he was little) but he bore the scars of a warrior, why would no one see that?

“No, I guess you weren't,” Cendred mused wistfully. “I would propose an alliance between our countries, but since you're already married, I suppose that option is out,” the tone had changed suddenly, from musing to what was expected from a ruler.

“I think you were the only one who didn't try to marry one of his daughters to me,” Arthur frowned and tried to remember all the offers he'd gotten and rejected. King Cendred had two daughters, one a few years older than him, the other only now turning twenty.

“My succession is secure, I don't need to make an effort. I can offer you a treaty,” the man obviously didn't want to discuss his reasons; just as well.

“One where we don't attack each other?” Cendred looked at him and raised his eyebrows in answer. “I accept. There are people I know in this land, my lord. I have no reason to want them, or you and your children for that matter, any harm.” It was an approving look that he received in answer and they kept walking in silence.

~*~

Seventeen days and counting. That was how long he'd already spent visiting King Cendred and it was only the time he had been at court, that didn't include his travel time. And however well he got along with the King of Northumbria now, it didn't change the fact that he felt like he should be back home. He was discussing _tapestries_ at the moment and that more than anything told him that it was probably time to get ready to leave.

Suddenly though, there was an audible commotion outside and he stepped closer to the window. Several guards were trying to hold someone back who struggled and seemed to put up a lot of a fight. Only fractions of what was being said carried over to where he stood. “...leave...let me...message...” He frowned, it was almost as if he knew- “Your highness!” it rang loud and clear over the courtyard.

“Gwen, what,” he waved over to the other man. “That's my wife's handmaid, call back your men.” Actually, he didn't have any kind of authority at the court but he just trusted the identity of the newly arrived woman to convey the urgency. Arthur was already on his way down the stairs. When he arrived, the soldiers stood aside and Gwen was stroking down her travel garb, breeches and a man's shirt. She was panting and had obviously been riding hard, he didn't know for how long. “Gwen, what's the matter? Did something happen to Morgana or Isabella?” He went cold as he said it, colder than he already was from not wearing anything fit for the outside.

“Your majesty. Your wife and daughter are fine but. Something happened.”

~*~

He didn't slow down the slightest bit, just barrelled into the village with Gwen on his heels and practically jumped off his horse after reining in suddenly in front of Hunith's home. They had exhausted three horses on the ride but Arthur hadn't been willing to keep it slow and Gwen seemed to be of the same mind for she hadn't complained once about the breakneck pace the previous night. “He needs to hear it from you,” she had said when he wanted to know if she had stopped by the village already. “I fear for him, your highness.” And if Arthur was honest with himself, so did he.

Leaving King Cendred's court without so much as a guard had been risky, he was aware of that, but he trusted in the fact that he wasn't travelling in king's garb, was nothing but a hasty traveller to the unsuspecting onlooker. The King of Northumbria had been more than surprised when his guest suddenly wanted a horse saddled and and told him he would be back a few days hence. Not even the knights of Camelot had heard the news yet, so they were equally surprised to see their King ride out from under the portcullis without a look back.

The villagers knew him by sight, even though it had been several years since he had been there and they looked on with disbelief in their eyes, obviously not understanding anything. It had probably been the voices from outside that had lured Merlin and his mother out from their cottage, the warlock looked at him with an amused look of incomprehension on his face. “Gwen, would you...?” Arthur turned to the younger woman and nodded towards the pair of mother and son.

“Of course,” she passed the reins of the horses on to a young man standing nearby, asking him to water the poor beasts, and went up to the entrance just behind the King. “Hunith, can I talk to you for a minute?” The smile on her face looked as forced as it probably was and Arthur didn't envy her the task. He didn't envy himself his own.

“Arthur, what in the name of-! What are you _doing_ here?” Merlin was still smiling though, obviously not disturbed by the fact that he was there at all. “And with Gwen no less. Why are you without a guard?” And ever worried. Arthur sighed.

“I need to talk to you,” he clasped his friend by the shoulder and let his arm glide to the back of his back, softly pushing so they could go inside and not do this in front of everyone else.

Merlin seemed to catch on then that something was amiss. “Arthur? Did...is something wrong? Why did Gwen want to talk to my mother?” Then they were alone, the outside world seemed shut away and it felt like he was breathing for the first time since Gwen had ridden into the courtyard. There was no way to say it that wouldn't hurt the other man, he knew that.

“Merlin... Gaius didn't show up for dinner with Morgana and she went to... He never woke up that morning. He's dead, Merlin, I'm sorry.” It felt like the hardest words he had ever said. His friend just stared at him blankly, complete lack of understanding written in his eyes.

“Wha- What do you mean? Arthur, please don't joke. Not about this.” But he knew it wasn't a joke, that Arthur would never joke with something like that. So he just shook his head slowly and waited. Merlin's breathing got audibly quicker and he started to move his hands erratically, started sentences and didn't finish them, wouldn't look at his friend. Then suddenly, he seemed to make a decision and dashed for the door.

“I need to go back,” he said. “Maybe I can do something, still.” Arthur caught him by the wrist for it hit him what his friend was planning, without a shadow of a doubt and he knew it couldn't end well. Merlin turned around. “Arthur, let me go. I need to go.” His tone was eerily calm, eyes glittering with something that the King couldn't interpret even after all these years, it was something new, something bordering madness. The wrist he was holding tucked towards the door but he only tightened his hold. “Arthur!” Somehow, miraculously (magically?) he was free and dashing towards the door. It was only Arthur's quick reflexes as a warrior that let him reach it first.

“Not even you can bring back the dead, you told me so yourself!” Years ago. Insistently. Telling him to never ask for that because Merlin couldn't allow his friend to pay the price. He hadn't understood, then. But now he thought maybe he did.

“What do you know? What do you know of magic, Arthur? You have no idea of what I can do, no idea what I'm capable of! There is more to me than being an insolent manservant and setting your child's cradle rocking! So don't you tell me what I can do and what I can't do because it's not your right! I have faced death for you, you don't get to tell me what I can and can't do anymore!” Shouting, breathing deeply and quickly and it was in that moment that Arthur realised what could have happened if Merlin had not been raised by a loving and gently strong woman as his mother. He could see what his father had been afraid of in sorcerers.

“Merlin-”

“Shut up! For once, just shut up!” The day went dark. Outside, thunder could be heard, at first distantly, then crashing directly over the village, rain came in torrents out of nowhere, lightening flashed blindingly, whitening out the world not for the blink of an eye but for heartbeats. The earth started shaking then, and at first it was just from the thunder that reverberated everywhere and wouldn't stop crashing, but items started to move on the table, only shivering at first, then shaking and crashing to the floor.

Arthur didn't know what was happening exactly, just that it felt like the end of the world. But he knew that whatever it was, his friend, who was now crumbled on the floor yelling his pain out incoherently, was causing it. Knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt, just as he knew on a much deeper level that this wasn't evil intent, that Uther had been more wrong than he had ever suspected, this was pain and desperation. And there was nothing logical he could do.

The world went white when Arthur fell on his knees in front of his friend. Extending his hands, he took the familiar face between both of them and brought them close together, close enough that his words would carry over the droning that had replaced the crashing of thunder. “Merlin. Merlin. Merlin, look at me. _Look at me!_” Blue eyes snapped open and stared into his and he thought maybe he saw the man mouth his name. “You can not do this. Listen. Listen to me!” The eyes refocused on his and Arthur swallowed. “Listen. This has to stop. You need to stay with me. _I need you._ Merlin!” They were back in the cottage. Debris littered the floor that had fallen off tables and shelves, but there was no thunder, no lightening, no rain, the earth was as still and as calm as if nothing had ever happened.

Merlin let out a shuddering breath that was almost a sob; one hand painful around Arthur's upper arm, the other clawing at the floor until blood seeped from under the nails. Then he collapsed against his friend, who was panting as if he had fought in a tournament all day. Wrapping one arm around his midsection, he half dragged, half carried the warlock towards the wall to lean him against it, seating himself right next to him and let his head fall on his shoulder. Arthur had expected a lot, but certainly not this.

Hunith and Gwen stormed through the door and found them sitting in what was left of the room. Shaking his head when they stared at him, he breathed out deeply. “It's all right,” he said and there was no doubt in his mind about that.

~*~

Merlin didn't come around until several hours later. Arthur had sat there for a long while, that dark head on his shoulder and his friend's regular breathing in his ear, not thinking. The two women had mostly bustled around them, cleaning up, picking up broken pottery and setting furniture right again; Gwen had said outside there had been only sudden rain and thunder and he hadn't asked about the earth shaking or the white that had engulfed him and Merlin at the end. That was between them. Of course, she was curious but he wouldn't betray the other man, not ever; he had promised himself that years ago, when magic had first cropped us an idea in his mind, as explanation why things kept happening around Merlin.

His time of trying not to think was interrupted soon enough by Gwen though, who stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “We need a third set of hands here. And since your majesty have proven yourself to be of considerable strength in the past, help would be much appreciated.”

Looking up at her showed him how much she, too, had changed in recent years. There had been a time when she wouldn't have talked to him like that. “You're spending too much time with Morgana.”

“Her highness thinks very highly of his majesty the King,” she smiled sweetly and watched as he levered himself up on legs gone stiff from sitting in the same position too long, careful not to disturb their sleeping friend.

“I'm sure she does,” Arthur answered dryly and followed her towards the heavy table that had fallen to the ground.

Hunith gave him a genuine smile as they put the furniture on its feet again. “I'm sure your wife loves you a lot.”

“You _have_ met my wife, I know you have, how can you possibly say such a thing?” Morgana was probably the only person in all of Albion who had never paid him any kind of respect at all; he had stopped expecting it from her early on though. The scar he still bore from the one time he actually had, had been enough warning for him in the years to come.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Arthur. We both know you would be bored to tears if you couldn't argue.” Hunith chuckled low in her throat and he didn't really have a response to that because everyone in the room probably knew that it was true.

Then something occurred to him. “You just called me Arthur. You may want to keep doing that.” Hadn't Gaius said to keep those he trusted close?

Night, a cold one to bundle up against, had fallen already when Merlin opened his eyes again. Arthur was sitting cross-legged in front of him, chin in his hand and he was sure it didn't do his station justice. “I have to watch you in your beauty-sleep way too often,” he stated calmly, quietly as to not wake the two women who were sleeping only a few paces away. The only light was by a single candle he had set up to not fall asleep himself, sleep tucked at him after riding two days and a night and after the happenings of that day. At first, the warlock just stared at him in utter lack of understanding, then remembrance returned to his eyes and he averted his gaze; it was just as Arthur had expected. “Let's take a walk,” he got up and threw a bundled up cloak to his friend who followed him out of the cottage.

They had crossed to the outer perimeter of the village before Merlin spoke at all, and then his voice was rough and extraordinary quiet. “I'm sorry.”

Arthur shook his head. “I'm sure you are but I don't need your apologies. What...was that? It felt like you were about to swallow up the whole world. Well, not you but-” He frowned.

The other man was quiet for a long moment and only their steps sounded through the dark. “I don't remember all of it. You said,” he cleared his throat, “you said...Gaius was dead and the next thing I know is you talking to me again and I was on the floor. The rest is hazy, at best.” Arthur regarded his friend for a long moment, wondering all kinds of things, but finally just outright told him what had happened and how he had perceived it. There was no use in trying to make anything of it that it wasn't. This was _Merlin_, after all, too much had happened between them and they had risked too much for one another already to start keeping secrets now.

“Morgana has made a few executive decisions in our absence,” he finished. “Gwen said she had all your things moved into the family wing, putting you up somewhere with rooms of your own. You won't be court physician but something closer to us.” He didn't know who would hold Gaius' position in the future, yet, but there had to be capable people out there, somewhere.

“Afraid I'll break under the responsibility of two jobs?” It was a weak attempt at a joke but at least it showed that the man was finding his way back to himself.

“More that she'll be left without a physician when I go off to war, I wager,” Arthur responded mildly. Of course, there were no plans for war anywhere in his mind, but his wife knew how he disliked just sitting on his throne and only holding court all day, and she knew how easy the tides of politics could change, too. There was no question that Merlin would follow him into any kind of battle.

The warlock turned to look at the village. “I can't stay any longer,” he stated with a sigh and Arthur knew that he meant he didn't even intend to return and gather his things. Stubborn warlock.

He wrapped an arm around Merlin's shoulders and pulled him along back to the village. “At least leave a note for your mother,” it was rare that he got to counsel his friend and somewhere below the sadness of Gaius' death, he enjoyed himself. “She'll be devastated if you just up and leave without so much as a goodbye. And then we can return to Cendred's court, I need to collect my men so we can go back home.” When the other man shot him a dubious look he growled about the tapestry discussion and was rewarded with a smile.

  
Back in Hunith's home, with a note on the table and the younger man cramming his things into a backpack, Arthur noticed the glint of eyes watching him from the bed. A quick look told him that his friend would be busy and immersed in whatever he was gathering for a few more minutes and took a step towards the older of the two women. “We're leaving,” he said quietly. “He's fine. I think he just needs to put some distance between himself and whatever it was that happened this afternoon.”

She watched him for a moment earnestly and seemed to come to a conclusion that only mothers could arrive at. “Arthur.”

“Yes?”

“Promise me to look out for him. He needs you. And you him. You complete one another,” she whispered. It should have added weight to his shoulders but there was nothing. Merlin had said something about destiny and his mother just instinctively felt the connection, something Arthur was almost envious of.

“I won't let any harm come to him,” he nodded at her, then followed his friend out from his home to collect the horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The man I give here as Lord Ban is modelled after King Ban of Benwick, which is on the continent so I misplaced him a little. We will meet his son later.  
> Oh and Garanwyn is indeed Sir Kay's son in legend.  
> When I was discussing the story with people while writing it I was called cruel for killing Gaius but considering that my plotting went rather far into Arthur's life, I couldn't keep him alive for the entirety of the story. And dying while asleep is not the worst thing that could have happened.


	15. Chapter 15

Isabella had passed the critical first year without a problem and was doing well. She had started walking at ten months, had suddenly come through the door to her nursery one day and no one knew how she had gotten out of her cradle. It was Arthur who had discovered her then and brought her to Merlin, asking if she possibly had any magic. The warlock had been sceptical, he knew children sometimes found ways that seemed impossible to adults. Still, he had her stay with him a lot from then on or brought his reading materials to where she was just to watch for any kinds of talent to manifest. He had told Arthur he had been able to do magic before he could walk just to keep him calm while he suspected that most magical abilities didn't show themselves until later.

The time after they had returned from Cendred's court had been quiet months. Winter had done its part, although winter fever had killed a good many people, the castle had mostly been spared, and there was enough delegating and organising to be done to keep both Morgana and Arthur busy. The King had told him what the ruler of Northumbria had said to him regarding what the nobles of East Anglia were talking among themselves and they had agreed that it needed to be investigated. This had been started in spring when merchants and other road folk started their yearly rounds to courts and towns, so no one would notice one or two extra people at an estate. Merlin could see how much his friend hated to have to spy on the people who should be loyal to him but they all knew that there weren't many other ways. A direct confrontation could have led not only to more tension as far as a duel and neither of them really wanted that. Again.

The fact that the kingdom had grown so much within two years was posing to be somewhat of a problem where Arthur probably had expected none. Not only were there possibly renegade nobles conspiring behind his back, but he also had to deal with a much larger influx of cases on trial day. Merlin could see how it grated on his nerves, the things people quarrelled about sometimes. The number of magic trials had gone down though, although there was still quite a number of them each month, most of them false claims, hardly any of them had serious consequences. It seemed like magic was beginning to be a part of life again, the druids had even started to show up in the villages and markets again, buying supplies openly instead of covertly.

Then the princess had started to talk shortly after her first birthday. Her first word, and Merlin would die before ever telling Arthur that much, had been 'prat', said with a big smile on her face when Merlin had been poring over a barely legible document from the archives that he hoped held some kind of clue for a new sleeping potion. Gaius' remedies were extremely potent but some of the ingredients were dangerous in the wrong proportions, too, and if Isabella had inherited more of her mother than just her dark hair and fair complexion, then he would need something that he was able to apply to a toddler.

He had stared at the girl and then she said it again, loud and clear and then he had taken the rest of the day to try and teach her 'mother' and 'father' but all she had gotten out was 'da' which at least was better than 'prat'. The only one he had told was Gwen, who he had sworn to secrecy after she had stopped laughing so hard she almost cried.

Almost half a year later, Isabella would talk everyone's ear off if she got half a chance and Morgana had wondered, smirking, if maybe that was because Arthur had talked so much with her during the pregnancy. That would also be an explanation why the little girl would raise her hands and demand to be picked up all smiles whenever her father came into the room. “Well at least I have one person here who favours me,” he sighed once after he had argued at length with Morgana about something he couldn't even remember five minutes later (Merlin had long since given up on taking sides unless it was a matter of state).

That winter was damp rather than cold and more people than usual were infected with winter fever. The new court physician, Eldrik by name, who was young and had trained on the mainland was mostly out of his depth, borrowed recipes from Merlin, who had to make rare use of his authority and ordered everyone within the castle and village who only suspected they had contracted the fever to stay in their homes. That slowed life in Camelot down considerably and didn't help the people who were already sick but the rate of people newly diseased went down a little. No one wanted to guess at the death toll the season would leave behind yet; it wouldn't empty the surroundings of Camelot but spring would have to warrant the accounting of people anew. Arthur had additional firewood distributed from the castle stores to counter the damp in the homes of the people and only the bedrooms and the dinner hall were being kept heated at all times to make up for the dwindling stores of dry wood.

Isabella and Gwen had fallen sick but it turned out to be only a cold and not winter fever, their lungs stayed mostly clear from what Merlin could hear and the princess' fever broke after two days and she was up and running around again after a week, Gwen took a week more to recover but she did eventually. Morgana wouldn't let herself be told off from sitting with her daughter but she didn't contract the cold and Merlin would have threatened Arthur to bind him with magic, if in those two days there hadn't been a fire set in the barrack building of the royal guard. The attachment to the castle burnt out completely and arson was suspected but no suspect could actually be found. It obviously didn't sit well with the King but he couldn't do anything when not even magic would assist in finding the person who did it.

~*~

Trial day fell into that period of chaos and none of them were in the best of moods, all of them glad that with any luck, spring would be less than two months away and at least the sickness would mostly vanish for another year, making room for other diseases to make their yearly appearance. But with the weaker part of the population already diminished, by experience, the pox outbreaks would be smaller than usual, affecting less people and more of them would be able to fight it off. With winter though, the number of trials were also less and they wanted to end for the day already when a young woman with a baby in her arms entered the small dining hall they were using these days instead of the throne hall.

“Your majesties,” she did a curtsy.

“What is your concern?” Morgana asked and Merlin could see how she threw a sideways glance at Arthur and frowned. Oh she didn't think...she did think, he realised. He shook his head at her for about a second and noticed that she had caught his sentiment, still frowning she turned back. Merlin sighed. Arthur certainly was not the brightest man on earth but he knew better than to father bastards.

The young woman stood straight again and hoisted the bundle in her arms a little higher. Looking around, her gaze fell in on him and she seemed to relax just a little. Merlin frowned. There was something in her stance that seemed familiar. “Your majesty, my name is Morfydd ferch Urien of House Rheged.”

Arthur blinked. “Owain's sister?” Sir Owain had fallen to the Black Knight years before Arthur had claimed the throne. It stood to wonder what the girl was doing here now.

“Twin sister,” she nodded.

Morgana cleared her throat. “Forgive me the insinuation, but you do not look like a Lady.” Morfydd was dressed in clean but simply clothing, a brown dress that looked a lot like what Gwen usually wore at her everyday chores. She bowed her head.

“Indeed, my Queen, I do not. My formal clothing is currently stowed away at the bottom of my chest and will remain there for a few more days until I return to my family.” Merlin saw that her hands were callused and had little of the hands of other noble ladies (except Morgana, but she still practised the sword). And then suddenly he remembered the feast at Isabella's naming day and gasped almost inaudibly, but still loud enough for Arthur to notice.

He glanced over, was too busy with Lord Urien's daughter, though. “I'm sorry about your brother, but we would still like to know about your presence here?”

“Certainly, your majesty. Forgive me if I take a while to explain. As you know, my brother was killed several years ago in a duel he took in your stead.” Arthur nodded curtly and motioned her to go on. Merlin knew, he hated that incident because he should have been the one to fight the Black Knight. He still hadn't understood that he would not have survived that fight, despite all he had been told. “I had always wanted to come here, since I learned of his death, to find out if he died honourably. My father always forbid me. Two years ago, I found out about a distant cousin on my mother's side and convinced my father to let me go there.

“My nurse was the only one who knew I never intended to go there and never even sent a message. I came to Camelot and was hired as a maid with the House of Foresyth that holds an abode a few leagues away, then found employment here in the castle, in the guest quarters. I wanted to know if my brother died for a good cause or if his life was wasted.” She said it without blinking even once, just looked her own King directly in the eye and told him what she thought. Out of the corner of his eye Merlin could see that Morgana had to hold onto herself not to start looking smug. “I talked to many people and I observed you well, your majesty, and can say with relief that I think you are a good King and my brother was right in saving you.”

Arthur was taken aback somewhat and blinked. “Thank you, Lady Morfydd, but as to your presence at court now...?”

“Certainly. When the Princess Isabella was born I met the royal warlock in somewhat hard to misunderstand circumstances,” Merlin could feel himself turn hot and red and also his friends' eyes on him, probably staring. “You see the result of this encounter here.” She looked at the baby in her arms then.

“I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but if you seek Merlin's ah, hand in marriage, I'm not the authority you have to-” She shook her head and had a hard time not laughing. Everyone knew, this was not actually a laughing matter but it was clear in Arthur's voice that he was more than amused.

“No, my lord, I do not. Thank you for being so considerate though,” she exchanged a grin with Morgana, then turned serious again. “My nurse has sent me a message that my father is awaiting my return with a certain amount of impatience you might be aware of, if you know my father,” Arthur nodded, remembering old Lord Urien who had been grey even when he had still been a little boy, playing with Owain in the stables when he was visiting with his father. “I am not Lord Urien's last child but I am now his oldest. However, I can not return to my family with a baby born out of wedlock. I also do not know how my father will react, given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances,” Arthur echoed with a raised eyebrow.

She sighed and produced a ring of wood with carvings on them from her gown, held it in front of the baby's face and a happy chortle could be heard; when she let the ring go it hovered in the air unassisted. That was the moment the King made a move with his hands that sent the guards and scribes scattering out the doors. Lady Morfydd looked around somewhat confused but then bellowing laughter could be heard from the throne. Arthur sobered though and looked to his right, saw how white his friend had turned upon the evidence of magic and got up, pulled the warlock backwards and sat him down on the armrest.

“Easy,” he murmured.

Meanwhile Morgana turned back towards the petitioner. “We understand. What is your request, now?”

“I was going to ask this child's father to take him in. I'm aware that this isn't quite the protocol but then I do not know if there is a protocol for this in the first place. Since Merlin is part of the court, I guessed this was the best place to ask,” she was somewhat more relaxed now that everyone else was gone. Morgana sighed and drummed her fingers on the armrest.

“Neither me nor the King can force him, you are aware of that?” She exchanged a glance with her husband who was still murmuring to their friend with one hand steadying on his shoulder.

“I am, your majesty,” Morfydd nodded.

“Merlin?” the Queen prodded with the weight of authority in her voice and he looked at her.

“Yes? I mean,” he took a deep breath and raked his hands through his hair, dishevelling it. “I mean, yes. Of course.”

Arthur saw his wife smile and nod at the younger woman and allowed himself a grin. Neither of them was putting up a very royal figure right at that moment but the situation was more than surreal right then; and Lady Morfydd would probably have a hard time getting used to the workings of a noble household as the daughter of a lord again herself. Now she was coming up towards them and made to place the baby in Merlin's arms but Arthur kept her back and took the bundle from her. His friend still looked a little shaky and dropping the child was definitely not an option. A small face smiled up at him.

“His name is Gawain. He'll be eight months old two weeks from now,” she said quietly and kissed her son's head one last time before heaving a sigh and stepping away with tears in her eyes.

“He'll be well taken care of,” Morgana said quietly as she had come up behind her.  
Arthur smiled at the little boy, then looked up. “Send us notice before you leave, Lady Morfydd. You will be escorted home by one of my men.” The young woman nodded, swallowed and fled the hall.

~*~

The King entered his friend's chambers without knocking. Merlin looked up and toasted to him with what seemed a full goblet of whine. “Sire. Enter and drink with me.”

“Are you drunk?” Arthur shook his head with a half-smile and pushed the door closed behind him. Twilight was filling the room. He snatched a cup for himself and filled it with wine from the decanter.

“A little,” his friend admitted and toasted him again with such a flourish that the liquid went over the rim.

“I don't think in all these years I've ever seen you drunk.”

The warlock tilted his head. “That's because. Evvytime I get drunk? Iiiiinteresting things happen with my magic!”

“Yeah? Like what?” Arthur raised his eyebrows. That could be entertaining.

“Eh. Once after the harvest feast, I think we were...maybe fifteen. Anyway, Will. You remember Will?” Arthur nodded. “Will woke up with four nipples. Took me a while to get rid of those again,” he grinned. “And the year after that, everyone ended up in the wrong beds. That was hilarious because the first thing Will saw that morning was his sister's face.”

“Must have been quite a bit of confusion when children were born nine months later,” Arthur steered the conversation carefully towards the topic he had actually come to discuss. Although now he did wonder in whose bed Merlin himself might have been. His friend just shrugged. In a small place like Ealdor, most people were probably cousins or something anyway. “Have you even held him yet?” Merlin shook his head. “He has your eyes,” he continued quietly.

“I'm surprised she didn't call him Owain,” Merlin sighed and set his goblet down.

“There's another brother called Owain in that family. Owain the Bastard, because he's the son of Urien with his seneschal's wife,” Arthur explained and refilled his own cup before leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs.

“Is he a knight?”

“No.”

“If he asked, would you make him one?” The warlock searched for his eyes and held them.

A frown played on the King's features. “Probably. He has noble blood, no matter if he's born on the right side of the blanket or no. Why?” He had actually thought about this before. He knew there were half-siblings of his, somewhere, although the records regarding this had been destroyed at his father's orders long ago. What if a half-brother of his came to claim knighthood?

“I was suddenly thinking of Lancelot. He never returned after your father let him go,” Merlin was being random but Arthur chose to indulge him.

“He's in Brittany these days. Married some duke's daughter after saving her from a bunch of road-robbers,” he smiled at the surprised look his friend shot him. “What? I'm the King, I can inquire after people without it looking suspicious. I can't change the First Code, not yet anyway, but I can look for people who I'd like to add to my men. It's Lancelot du Lac, now.”

“Fascinating.” Merlin drank again.

“Would you like to foster him with us?” It was time to make the man realise what was what.

“Who? Lancelot?” Merlin raised an eyebrow at what seemed a ridiculous idea to him.

“Gawain, Merlin. Your son.”

“Oh. Huh. What?”

Arthur actually cursed under his breath and leaned forward to snatch the wine away from his friend.

“Is that possible?” Big blue eyes looked at him. It really was eerie, the boy's eyes were exactly like that, too.

“Well. I am the King. Theoretically, everything is possible. Practically, he is of noble lineage, I don't see a problem there.” He shrugged. It would be fuel to the East Anglians who thought him unworthy for raising servants into high ranks already but if anyone cared to investigate they would find no purchase; bastards were fostered at noble houses all the time, even though normally they were of the male line.

Merlin still looked at him dubiously. “It's not like I don't live here, too.”

Sighing deeply, Arthur made the executive decision to never let Merlin drink so much again. It obviously made him more dense in the head than usual. “It's more a matter of organisation than of practical means. If he is fostered with me, us,” he conceded because Morgana would have his balls if he left her out of the loop, “he can be educated together with Isabella. And there won't be any problems if we have to go to war,” or if they didn't come back, but he wouldn't say that out loud. He had promised no harm would come to Merlin and he intended to keep it.

The warlock finally nodded. “Fine.” He wrestled the goblet back (and Arthur could have sworn he had seen a golden flash in his eyes when his own fingers finally gave way) and refilled it. Then he actually groaned. “Arthur can you believe it, I despoiled a noble lady and to top things off, I knocked her up. What will my mother say?”

His friend laughed loud for a good minute. “Merlin, don't get me wrong but I don't think you despoiled her any. And well, getting her pregnant was simply...an accident, if you want to put it that way. If it is any consolation, she didn't sound as if you had forced her.” The warlock glowered at him and he shrugged with a smile. “And your mother will just be happy to have a grandson.”

“So you will have him tutored with Isabella?”

“That would be the plan,” Arthur nodded and rubbed his eyes. Merlin's eyes flashed and the candles on the table started to burn. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, can't have the King blind this young already,” he grinned and Arthur knew that things would turn out okay, once the man was sober again tomorrow. “So he'll be learning knitting and all?”

The King chortled. “If her fascination every day when she sees me train the men is any indication, she won't have to do much with knitting. And besides, you cannot tell me you don't know your own fair share of the fine crafts.” It was an expression he had gotten used to using around Morgana, whose look pierced him every time he called them 'women's chores'.

Merlin shrugged. “I didn't have a father to teach me the other stuff. And Isabella's fascinated because it's you standing there, you're her hero.”

“I'm everyone's hero, Merlin,” Arthur sighed and set the new decanter on the table which he had brought with him. “And believe me, sometimes that's the worst job of all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, 'prat' is way too complicated a word for a child to say as their first. But it was the idea that counted ;)  
>  Sickness made yearly rounds well into the 20th century, appearing in waves and ebbing away, much like the influenza strains still do these days. Winter fever (pneumonia) and the wasting (tuberculosis) took a high body count in winter, especially when it was cold and damp while smallpox was mainly active in spring and autumn.  
>  Owain is an extremely prominent figure in the Arthurian Legend high and low, he appears as early as the Welsh Triads and Geoffrey of Monmouth's original account. There are a few myths regarding himself and his twin sister, Morfydd (pronounced Morvith). Morfydd ferch Urien means as much as 'Morfydd daughter Urien' in Welsh, King Urien actually who was head of the house of Rheged and is as often mentioned in Arthurian lore as his knight.  
>  Owain and Morfydd were rumored to be the children of Urien by Modron, the 'divine mother', the washer woman at the ford who Urien came upon one day, had sex with and told him to come and receive something ten months later. Urien then was presented with the twins.  
>  Morfydd herself is referred to in the Welsh Triads, very early accounts that also speak of Arthur, as well as in the Culhwch and Olwen myth (it all falls together somehow, I loved how much I could toy around here with history and mythology). What I want to remark on also is that there is a big love story regarding her, since she's in eduring and epic love with one of Arthur's knights, Sir Cynon, son of Clydno. Now if you want to spin the tale in this story, Sir Cynon might have been the knight sent to escort her home to her father and on the way they fell and live and Sir Clydno didn't care if she was already 'despoiled by the royal warlock' and had a child. More on [Owain](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ywain) and [his sister Morfydd](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morvydd) can be found on wikipedia, my main source of information aside from the people who took Arthurian Lit classes and who I pestered while writing this story ;)


	16. Chapter 16

“And you have to go there now because...?” Merlin asked while holding the reins of Arthur's horse until the King was seated in the saddle, then slipped them over its head.

“Because a broken finger is nothing to stay home over and this visit is more than overdue,” the King answered quietly and set his horse walking out of the stable. Normally he would mount in the courtyard but with his mangled hand he really didn't feel like looking like a fool in front of his men.

The warlock rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath about the King's vanity, then mounted his own horse and they rode across the courtyard out from under the portcullis, side by side as was their custom by now. After five years of Arthur's reign, the knights had gotten used to a lot of things that had changed when the young King had first assumed the throne, it was now normal that his closest advisor was always by his side, riding next to him and the youngest among them hadn't known it to ever be different. They also had no reason to doubt their sovereign's decisions; the country was fertile and no droughts or blights had befallen it yet, he had extended it considerably, and except for a few skirmishes at the coast and on the continent at the side of the allied forces in Brittany, there had been no wars, people had been able to live in peace. There was a three year old princess who had just started to fight against trees with a stick and she had a foster brother not a year younger growing up alongside her, who was blessed with minor magical abilities, the son of that advisor. The only thing missing was a male heir but both King and Queen were still young.

“And I have to be there, too, because...?” he asked further as they put some distance between themselves and the rest of the handful men they were taking with them.

“Because you go where I go, if you haven't noticed from our trip to the mainland yet,” Arthur answered and tried to flex his left hand, not made easier by the splint.

“And because you'd be bored, since Morgana isn't coming along either,” Merlin added and let his horse fall back into a brisk walk. The Queen wasn't accompanying her husband a lot on travels, but there were children to take care of, a kingdom to keep together and she preferred to have her nightmares in her own bed instead of some campsite or a foreign castle. Arthur respected that, and he preferred to leave his daughter in his wife's care, despite the fact that they had a trustworthy seneschal.

His friend grinned at him. “I won't deny that.” And then he was off, galloping along the fields and Merlin rolled his eyes before he set off after the King, who was still much of a little boy despite being almost thirty.

After their noon break, the King's pace was slower, he didn't want to exhaust the horses too much, for they had another day and a half to go before they would arrive at their destination. Merlin wondered as to the sudden nature of this visit. Arthur had told him a week ago that they were going, then he had broken his finger when his horse had pressed him again the wall in the stables and and he still insisted on going. Things had been too busy since then, preparing, determining who would go with them that he had never quite managed to look up who it was they were visiting. Even though according to Arthur it was more of an 'inspection' anyway. So now he finally had time to ask.

“Lord Vortigern. My father never trusted his family,” Arthur looked somewhat disdainful and shook his head.

“Why is that?”

The King looked at him for a moment. “You need to spend more time in the archives I guess.”

“I'm being kept plenty busy, sire, my King wishes me well prepared for all eventualities and has a tendency to join personally every little skirmish arising,” Merlin answered with an exaggerated sigh.

“Your King sounds like a fiend,” his friend mused. “I wonder why you still work for him, then.”

“Oh he has his moments despite that.” They grinned at each other. Maybe Merlin, too, sometimes felt like a boy still when he was around Arthur too long.

“Well, with this it might be better if you don't go to Geoffrey anyway,” he sighed and at his warlock's surprised look he shrugged. “I can't guarantee it, but with this particular...historical incident I have the feeling that old Geoffrey has made up more than is truly known. Lord Vortigern, the first of the line, that is, this one is just some descendant of his, for all that is known was one of the original usurpers.”

“That doesn't sound like a man you want to trust indeed.”

“Usurper to the Romans, Merlin. Although my ancestors probably didn't like that indeed. Most is lost in history and there are only few accounts but he is remembered as the worst ruler in the history of the isles, or one of the worst anyway, because he was the one who invited Hengest and Horsa to settle and you know what happened then.” Merlin nodded. Hengest and Horsa had been the leaders of the Angles and Saxons who had overrun the country several hundred years ago and thrown half the isles into chaos and ruin, destroying much of the old ways but also of the Roman influences the country had had back then still. Many of their descendants were settled in what had been East Anglia until a few years ago. “So when Vortigern noticed his mistake he fled across the country to the hillfort his family still occupies today. He doesn't seem to have been much of a nice guy either, I think the description of him that is most fitting is 'a man wholly given to the lusts of the flesh, the slave of every vice'.”

“In other words not blessed with many virtues,” Merlin concluded.

“No, not many indeed,” the King nodded.

“But why still not trust him? That was how many centuries ago? Your father can't seriously have thought... I mean... Really?” It confused him.

The shrug that answered him was somewhat non-commital. “There's more. Which is probably the reason why my father drilled this into me until I could recite most of what's written by memory. Since we had to deal with the Norman attacks on and off over the years he used it as a prominent example and also went to check on the lord every couple of years, I mean you have to admit, the Saxon thing was a misconception of more than epic proportions.” Merlin could only nod in answer. “But there's more still. That hillfort is where my father caught the dragon that is or was, as you say, below Camelot. The legend told of two of them but he only found the one... And Lord Vortigern's son was the only noble magic user ever found.”

The last sentence made the warlock look over abruptly. “Was he executed?” Arthur sighed and nodded, he obviously had arrived at the same conclusion as him a while ago already and he didn't like it in the least. “Are you sure it was smart to take me along, then?”

“You're right, Vortigern was very bitter about this with my father. But I'm not my father.”

“And yet it is the first time you have gone there,” he stated and let that sink in.

“What are you implying?” The King was not happy with where the discussion was going, he knew. But as Arthur had said, he wasn't here because he said what he knew the King wanted to hear.

“That it might just backfire to take the living example of magic with you when you're going to check on someone who lost his son for exactly that reason,” Merlin said defiantly and shrugged. Sure, what did he know. He was just the stupid former manservant.

“Then we simply do _not_ introduce you as warlock to Camelot but as what else you're along as, the manservant replacing my squire.” Garanwyn, Arthur's squire and Sir Kay's son, was attending the wedding of his sister and the King strictly refused taking more than one squire. Merlin would change that in time but his friend was naturally stubborn and seemed to think he was good enough for the odd jobs. However, in this case, Merlin had doubts that it would work, even though he wasn't usually known by sight, mostly everyone knew these days that he accompanied the King on his travels.

“Arthur...,” he wanted to protest.

“Oh just shut up and ride,” the other man growled and that was it where that topic was concerned, it seemed.

~*~

The welcome Arthur Pendragon received at Lord Vortigern's abode was warmer than Merlin had expected after what he had learned. Lord Vortigern himself was around sixty, had probably been grey for decades but was still a hard man, a seasoned warrior. And he wasn't fooled for a second, when Arthur introduced him as his manservant, he could see that instantly. Still, he didn't call the lie since technically, it wasn't one, in the end, he would serve Arthur for as long as he was alive.

The welcome feast was small, only Vortigern's household (consisting of himself, his wife, his wife's sister) and the seven men who had come from Camelot. He had told Arthur not to drink too much because of it would only lengthen the time the finger would take to heal and the Lord remarked on it. “Little accident in the stables,” Arthur smiled and waved his hand around.

The lord almost clucked his tongue, at least it seemed to Merlin like he would. “I'll let my servants bring some knitbone to you later,” he nodded. Merlin bit his lip but wouldn't say anything. Knitbone was not in his usual treatment plan, because even though it did have a variety of uses, Gaius had taught him that it was easily overdosed and ingested repeatedly it impaired bodily functions.

The lord brought the tea himself after his guest had already retired to his rooms. Merlin had just started to unpack when the door opened without a single knock and he knew he would have to remind Arthur of the deadbolt later that night. Lord Vortigern stayed a few minutes until Arthur had drunk about half the mug, then bid his King goodnight, who in turn emptied the rest of the liquid into the chamberpot. “Way too sweet,” he grimaced.

Arthur started to grumble about headaches ten minutes into a game of Tabula but it had been a long day and Merlin thought it was just a matter of exhaustion, especially since the tension between the lord and his sovereign had been almost palpable. He kept thinking that until the headache got worse rapidly and the vomiting started with the onset of pain to the stomach about an hour later. The warlock knelt next to his friend and held his head, face drenched in cold sweat until Arthur was nothing but dry heaves. “I'm feeling really bad,” Arthur sighed as he lay back in the bed.

“I know. You look like a ghost,” Merlin answered and handed his friend some water to rinse his mouth. It took him a moment to realise that Arthur did not have a comeback to that because he was too sick but because he was staring past him, mouthing a word but not giving voice to it. “Arthur?” His smile faltered.

“No, mother. I don't think father would mind at all,” Arthur stated in a cheerful voice while still staring past him.

Merlin froze. “Arthur, if that's a joke you better stop it right now or I'll turn you into a rug.”  
But there was no sign that the King had heard him at all, he kept talking to thin air, focusing on a spot in front of him where there was nothing, talking to someone who wasn't there. To his mother, who he only knew from the single portrait that existed of her.

The warlock swirled the contents of the chamberpot around, then reached one hand in and pulled a piece of leaf out of the filth, it was about halved and looked familiar. Too familiar. And it was not knitbone. Panic started to seize him and all he could do for a moment was sit on the bed next to his friend and stare. He didn't understand. He did, truly, but at the same time, he couldn't begin to. Then his mind and body finally started working again and he hastened to his pack which stood still leaning against the backwall of the room, he had not yet managed to move it into his own chambers down the hall. He dragged it over, while Arthur kept talking to the dead mother only he could see.

Grabbing the mug he refilled it with water, dropped a piece of pressed peat into it and heated it to almost boiling with a short burst of magic. The same magic cooled it down again and he resettled on the bed. “Arthur. Arthur, I need you to drink this,” he pressed his fingers against the other man's throat, felt the heart beat sluggishly, without any kind of rhythm. The King didn't react for a moment, then his eyes focused.

“Merlin,” he said, coughed. Merlin didn't expect he'd be coming out of whatever he saw but at least his attention was on him again.

“Arthur, I _need_ you to drink this,” he held the liquid to the man's lips, who just sputtered.

“That is _nasty_, Merlin!”

“I know,” again, he used his magic and pressed Arthur back against the headboard. “Drink it.”

“You wish. Mother, tell him to leave me alone! See, mother says you are to take that nasty stuff away.” His nose wrinkled and Merlin would have rolled his eyes if he didn't know that the man was not only talking nonsense but also was in mortal danger. Since he couldn't fight back now though, Merlin could just reach out and pinch his nose shut. When Arthur opened his mouth to breath after a few seconds he just poured the tincture down his throat and watched him swallow.

“Arthur, you said you trust me. You showed me you did. You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you if I could do it any other way.” He knew the limits of his magic. He knew that only what he had learned over the years could save his friend now, even though he would have traded his own life for Arthur's in a heartbeat, he knew that wasn't how things worked. Had learned that because it had almost ended in tragedy the one and only time he used magic in this way.

The few minutes after Arthur had ingested the mixture were the worst because there was nothing he could do. The tincture had been thick and doubtlessly tasted awful, but he just sat there and kept talking to his mother. Merlin didn't know what she answered, the discussion was patchy and didn't seem to follow any kind of topic. At times it was like the King was reliving part of his life, just that this time Igraine was present and watching or listening. It was painful for the warlock to watch but at the same time, he would keep this version of Arthur Pendragon in his heart forever because there was an affection in his demeanour, a yearning, that he hadn't shown often in the many years they had known one another.

“Arthur,” he tried to get the man's attention. “Arthur.” Nothing. The King was a strong man but with the distraction of his hallucinations he wasn't prepared for being pulled forward by the collar of his tunic and for fingers being thrust down his throat. Merlin didn't care about the vomit running over his fingers, and only retrieved them when nothing but peat-speckled bile showed up anymore.

Arthur sat back, panting and soaked in new cold sweat. “Whatever did you do that for? Mother, what did he do that for?!”

“Just trying to save your life, you idiot,” his friend murmured and got up, wiping his fingers on his clothes. Out the door he walked down the length of the hallway and banged against the second door to the right. Sir Griflet opened, somewhat sleep-addled already and blinked at him.

“Merlin? What's this ruckus about this late? There a long- Eh stop. Wait-,” he said when Merlin pushed against his chest and into the room, pushing the door shot behind him. “I don't know what you usually-”

“Quiet. Listen to me and do it closely. Lord Vortigern has poisoned his majesty with Dead Man's Bells.” The knight visibly paled at this information and wanted to storm to the door but the warlock was in his way. “I told you to listen. I need you to inform the other men. Vortigern has guards, and they do seem well enough trained. We will- _Sir Griftlet, listen to me!_” He made his voice resonate more intently with magic when the man seemed more interested in finding out a way out of the door. “You are one of the King's knights! Act like one! We will do something about Vortigern but you're only five here and he has more than thirty men on the compound.”

“Each one of us is worth a hundred of those losers,” the young man ground out and growled.

“As I am sure you are. However, you cannot risk getting injured, not with the King out of it like that. He is alive and if I can do anything about it, he will stay alive. When you have informed the others, and make sure they stay calm, you are to go and draw me a bucket full of well water so I can go on treating his majesty. Once I have done everything I can for the King, we will go and deal with Lord Vortigern. Do you understand?” Merlin was suddenly thankful for the years he had watched Arthur and Morgana treat everyone at court, no matter if it was knights or servants. There was a certain tone they used and now he did his best to imitate that. Griflet was one of the younger knights, Merlin had been at court already when the boy had become a squire and had been at his knighting ceremony. Griftlet accepted his authority because he knew King Arthur listened to his counsel. At the same time, Merlin didn't lord over anyone despite his position, which made him well liked enough without him actually using the limited authority he possessed.

“I understand,” the knight's jaw was set and all Merlin could do was turn on his heal and go back to the door.

“Merlin.” He turned around. “Will he live?” The man suddenly looked young, and lost. As lost as Merlin himself felt and he tried for an encouraging smile despite the desperation he felt in his own gut.

“King Arthur is young and healthy. Strong. If anyone can fight this off it's him. Excuse me.”

It took a while, but eventually all five men gathered with grim faces in the King's bedroom. Merlin had washed Arthur's face and put a new tunic on him so he didn't look as sick as he had just a few minutes ago. It wasn't true, of course, but the warlock had learned long ago that appearance sometimes was the deciding factor. He accepted the water from Sir Griflet, he would made Arthur drink most of it over the rest of the night. For now though, the King was resting fitfully after ingesting two mashed up dwayberries which had already quickened his heartbeat marginally and while it was still unnaturally slow, his fears were somewhat diminished.

“I cannot yet say that the King will live, but I am confident. I believe in him.” He looked at each man in turn. All were young, only Sir Safir older than Merlin himself and none of them had any kind of actual power in this matter at all; all these boys were of noble blood but the situation at hand was so much without precedence that none of them seemed to have any idea of what to do. The problem was that all of them were armed and trained at the sword and once they came back to their senses... Merlin closed his eyes for a second and exhaled deeply. “I am more than convinced that Lord Vortigern tried to kill his majesty, however. He personally brought up a mug of knitbone tea for the treatment of King Arthur's broken finger. Knitbone is easily confused with Dead Man's Bells but no one to whom the difference has ever been explained would ever make such a mistake. It was intentional. I do not know why, however, which is why he needs to be kept alive to be questioned.”

If I can keep myself in check, he added mentally after a last look at his friend. “Follow me,” he said determined and walked through the door of the King's chamber, using magic to let the deadbolt fall shut from the inside. The knights were behind him, left and right. Guards started showing up once they had left the guest quarters and tried to hinder them from progressing further into the castle but he didn't even pay them any mind, just flung them aside with a single thought, his magic boiling over inside of him.

It was rage driving him forward, rage keeping him calm on the inside at the same time. He knew, not long ago he had been sitting at Arthur's deathbed and no matter how much he told the men in his company now that he was confident the King would live, he knew well enough that he could just as well return to an empty body that would draw no more breath. However, he refused to think about that possibility, telling himself that if he didn't take it into consideration it would not happen. Could not happen. Arthur Pendragon was the most important person in Merlin's life (he was aware that it in many ways was a confession of his own failure as a father that Gawain didn't come first); and that man, strong and compassionate, that life, precious and fragile, could not possibly perish now, in this night. He wasn't meant to. Merlin wouldn't let him.

The door to Lord Vortigern's bedchamber burst open in front of him, he could feel the magic radiating from himself and then he stood in front of the noble who had jumped out of bed, his wife only slowly peeling herself away from the covers. The warlock didn't need a single word or move a single muscle, Vortigern was pressed against the wall, legs tangling in the air, within the fraction of a heartbeat, his throat constricted as if he was being held up by it, air supply cut off almost completely.

The man tried to say something, the woman screamed but the knights had her surrounded as well as her husband. Merlin himself stood back, and watched. In the eyes of the armed men he had assumed the role of the leader that usually was Arthur's prerogative and that he never would have wanted in the first place. But this once, he didn't have a choice. “Lord Vortigern, you stand accused of attempted regicide against your own sovereign and liege Arthur Pendragon. Do you have anything to say in your defence?” Merlin wasn't an appointed proxy, he didn't have the right to try anyone but no one really cared about that detail in those moments.

Vortigern didn't say anything, even when the hold on his throat was loosened. Sir Lionel drew his sword but Merlin just said, “No,” and it was sheathed again, all the time he kept looking at the noble. “Why did you do it?”

After several minutes of all of them just staring at each other, the lady of the house started sobbing. “It's because of our son! He was our only child, the only heir! We accepted that he had to die because he possessed magic. We did! We accepted King Uther's decision! And now,” the next words were incomprehensible but she kept wailing. “What did our son die for? All our suffering in vain!” It all turned to crying then, her husband turned away from her in disgust and Merlin let out a shuddering breath, trying to control his anger.

It took a moment but he managed to not tell the men to kill the lord. “Take them both to the dungeons. The sister, too.” He looked around at the handful of knights. “Do _not_ do them any harm. Neither you nor I are judges or executioners. His majesty will decide what is to happen to them. Guard them until then.” Loosening the hold on the man's throat was harder to do but he still did because he had to stay in the morally superior position.

~*~

Merlin had stopped by the kitchens on his way back and picked up a good sized rock of salt. The fort was suspiciously empty, and he suspected that all the servants had fled when they had noticed that the knights of Camelot were practically storming the buildings. Many of the guards he had gotten out of the way were gone, too, probably fled as well.

Over the course of the night Arthur stayed unconscious but he vomited twice more and his pulse was going up and down. Merlin fed him one more dwayberry after every attack and made him drink all the water in the bucket. In between, he fed him small pieces from the saltrock. At some point, when light was already creeping over the landscape, he had fallen asleep, for it was Arthur's fingers twitching against his face that woke him. The warlock blinked, focused on his friend, who was watching him through heavy lidded eyes.

“You're awake,” he said and his voice was full of wonder. Arthur gave him a half-hearted smile.

“Yes,” he said roughly. “I'm not feeling so great though.”

Merlin sat up and made the man drink some more water. “Headache? Stomach queasy?” When his friend made an affirmative noise, he nodded. “Last night I wasn't sure you'd make it at all,” he cleared his throat and set the mug aside.

“Don't plan on dying, Merlin.”

The warlock snorted. “I don't plan to let you, Arthur.”

The King smiled again. “Sit.”

“I'm sitting.” Merlin frowned. Blindness was not usually a sign of poisoning with dead man's bells and Arthur actually had focused on him, hadn't he?

The other man sighed, shook his head a little and patted the space next to him ever so slightly. “Closer, stupid.”

“Arthur, I don't think-”

“Stop thinking and come _here_ already,” he insisted. “Not going to rape you.”

“No _really_, never would have thought,” Merlin rolled his eyes and climbed onto the mattress, careful not to jostle his friend. “There, satisfied?”

“Yes. You're warm.”

“I slept. As should you, now... Wait, are you cold?” He reached out a hand and pressed it against the other man's throat. He could feel a stronger pulsing than the previous night albeit the rhythm was not yet as it should be, the irregularities were bound to resolve themselves as the body worked out the poison though. Merlin had done what he could, now it was up to the constitution of the King to do the rest. However, it looked like the worst was over.

“Not anymore,” Arthur knocked one hand lightly against Merlin's chest. “Tell me what happened.”

“Arthur I don't think-”

“Now, Merlin,” his friend said in his best spoiled-prince-to-the-crown tone that he still retained.

The warlock sighed because he could see in his friend's eyes that he wouldn't retaliate. “Dead man's bells poisoning.” And then he gave an as detailed account as possible and Arthur listened, the warlock only omitting details that he thought weren't relevant. The King didn't seem to remember the 'conversation' he had with his mother and that was probably for the best.

“Looks like you had everything under control,” he finally said with the tone of satisfaction.

Merlin shook his head. “I was scared. And mad.”

“Mad is going to get you killed in battle. Scared will make you vulnerable,” his friend counselled. “Keep that in mind.”

“Arthur, I'm no warrior,” Merlin whispered, the prospect alone making him close his eyes and shake his head.

He felt the King's eyes on him for a long minute, then his wrist was grabbed and squeezed, not painfully but reaffirmingly. “You're many things, Merlin. You've proven yourself more than once already.”

~*~

Arthur was on his feet again by day three and sentenced Lord Vortigern to death, his wife and sister in law were exiled from the country. Each of the knights present would probably have done it but it was a task he had to do himself. He didn't talk to anyone for the rest of the day but called Merlin to his chamber when dark had already fallen. He wasn't feeling well enough to travel, yet, so they would stay for two more days.

“Did you read up on the legend of this place?” he wanted to know. Merlin shook his head. “I guess it's not important anymore. I'll have the interior burnt when we leave here.”

“If you think that is the right decision,” the warlock nodded and waited if there was anything else.

“You know, you saved my life... How many times? I could make you a noble. Or something,” the King sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Merlin smiled. “I'm rather satisfied with what I am, your majesty.”

Arthur's blue eyes met his for a long while and he nodded. “I know, Merlin. I know. However, this place will be held for you, if you should decide that life at court is becoming to boring.”

“Arthur, I really-”

“No protest allowed. Dinas Emrys will be unoccupied for as long as either of us is alive, at least. That's my ruling as King, no backtalk allowed and- Merlin?” His friend had gone awfully pale.

“Did you say... Emrys?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Dinas Emrys. It's some local dialect thing, I'm sure you can look it up somewhere. Why, is something wrong?”

Merlin shook his head after a second. “No, it's just... I thought I'd heard that before. Never mind, Arthur. Thank you. But likely, I won't make use of it. I told you, I will serve you my whole life. You'd be bored without being able to order me around.” He smiled and took his leave.

Arthur didn't believe a single word. Oh, certainly, Merlin would happily serve him, he made that more than clear. But the rest? It was a good thing the warlock never played for coin, he was a horrible actor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little history-lesson that Arthur gave Merlin (including the part where he thought old Geoffrey might have made stuff up) is all accurate as far as a reconstruction of history is possible: [Vortigern on Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vortigern).  
>  That also includes the story about the two dragons, one red and one white, they represented Britannia and the Saxons. Dinas Emrys will be references later on, don't want to spoil my own story ;)  
>  Dead Man's Bells is of course a synonym for foxglove or digitalis. Digitalis contains a heart-glycoside, a sugar that affects the working of the heart, you have likely heard of it before, it was (partly still is) prescribed for arrhythmia and other heart conditions. Ingested by healthy individuals it can lead to problems and is often deadly in small quantities already. Digitalis has also been known to be a double edged sword for a long time, it is sensible to assume that they knew about it in the Middle Ages. It was a little hard to extrapolate from modern-day case reports to what would have been done in times when no modern medicine, no IV fluids and the like was available. I hope I made a good enough case here, being a biotype helped a little.  
>  As for the mix-up between foxglove and knitbone, that Merlin mentioned, that indeed is a fact, knitbone is the old name for comfrey, which looks similar to foxglove. However, knitbone impairs liver function and is therefore not very popular anymore; Merlin should have been suspicious already when Arthur said the infusion was sweet, comfrey would have decidedly bitter taste due to its high alkaloid-content.  
>  Dwayberry is an old name for Atropa belladonna, the good old plant that produces atropine. You're probably familiar with atropine at least by name so I'll lay off the lecture now ;)


	17. Chapter 17

Some of the East Anglian nobles were still complaining, or at least covert reports about it still reached Camelot, but it was getting old by now.

He had broken in a new horse, in the course of which he had landed backside first in a pond and the useless figure he called his warlock had just stood by and tried not to laugh (with no success).

He also had already decided on the amount of grain to be stored based on the expected harvest, on how much firewood should be cut and had trained the men so extensively that they had demanded a break.

In other words, he was bored. Not even Hunith, who had come to Camelot to visit her son and now more than three year old grandson, could change that for he hardly got to see her, as much as she was occupied with the children. He didn't mind. Isabella didn't have any grandparents and she had taken to Merlin's mother like a woodshed to fire. The woman herself had gotten old in the few years he hadn't seen her, a life spent working hard taking its toll, and he knew that his friend wished she would stay in Camelot for good.

“Nobility is overvalued,” he said listlessly, which made everyone stop eating their dinner. Arthur looked up. “What? Look around the table, don't tell me the thought never occurred to you.”

Merlin threw a chunk of bread at him. “One would think as often as I've heard the code of chivalry I would know it by now. What was the wording? 'Your second duty is to always flee treason wherever you encounter it and be loyal to your family, your country and your sovereign.' Everyone who would have just dared to _utter_ such a line as you just did would have been arrested on grounds of that by now.”

“I'm the King, it's not treason when I say it,” he grabbed the bread and threw it back at his friend, and if he'd been twenty years younger (and if he had known Merlin when he was a boy of eleven) he would have also extended his tongue.

“Well, _sire_, since everyone present here but you and your wife are commoners, would you care to discuss the abolishment of the standings and have us thrown into the dungeons for conspiring against the crown with its bearer?” the warlock countered and considered the bread thoughtfully. Arthur saw Gwen taking up eating again with an amused glint in her eyes and could practically feel the annoyance on his left where Morgana (well into her second pregnancy and especially easy to anger at this point) sat.

Hunith meanwhile looked back and forth between her son and him. “Are they always quarrelling like that?” she finally asked the two women and received positive answers. “I see,” was all the comment she would give on it, though and continued eating as well.

“Arthur,” Morgana sighed and got up. Her belly wasn't as prominent, yet, but the pregnancy was obvious already. “I think you need to go and find yourself a war to fight. Or whatever else it is you do to pass the time, as long as you do it far away from Camelot. I expect you to be gone by tomorrow evening and I expect you to _stay_ gone for however long it takes you to stop being ornery.” Her gaze passed through him and focused on Merlin. “You go with him and keep him out of trouble, you hear? I'm sure Hunith will be willing to assist me with this birth if you should not be back by then?”

The older woman looked a little taken a back but smiled sympathetically. “Certainly, my lady.”

“Morgana,” the Queen corrected mildly and left the room. The pregnancy was not as hard on her as the first one, she wasn't as sick and she seemed a lot more at ease this time. However, the problems of the child going wild whenever someone but her closest friends touching her persisted, even at this still relatively early stage, but had not occurred when Hunith had done it.

Arthur blinked. “Did she just...kick me out of my own castle?” Merlin bit his lip, nodded. Obviously amused at the realisation, looking for all the world like he was no older than the day he had first arrived in Camelot and Arthur really didn't think that was fair, even though he himself didn't yet look his over thirty years, a fact that he owed to his light hair and complexion. “Not a word!” he admonished and the warlock proceeded to shake his head, teeth still sunk so firmly into his lower lip that the King wondered if he might not be drawing blood.

~*~

How Arthur ended up the next morning in a bedroll on the hard forest floor with Merlin curled up next to him in another one would forever remain a mystery to him. The warlock swore it wasn't his doing and the King had little reason to doubt him. And then there were the travel packs, two of them, packed in a way that neither of them was in the habit of, especially Merlin's supplies in no discernible order. Two chargers were tethered close by and they were fresh, unridden. What was more, Arthur didn't recognise his surroundings in the least and he knew all forests and fields within a day's ride of the castle by heart.

“There are more people who can use magic,” Merlin muttered as he reordered his pack.

“Gawain won't be the one to have done it,” Arthur answered somewhat irritated. The little boy was exhibiting certain talents still, but nothing of it was sophisticated and most was just used to make his foster sister happy.

Merlin didn't know how to give a proper magical education and Hunith had just waved the whole matter off. 'I managed to raise you at a time when magic was a touchy subject at best and look what became of you', she had said just last night again, when they had sat with the children over supper before their bedtime. He knew, the fact that Merlin had survived his childhood and adolescence at all was more a matter of luck than skill and of the fact that Merlin must have understood early on that people weren't to know about his abilities but it didn't diminish the effort that had been made. The warlock had been born when the ban on magic was already in effect in Albion and with Ealdor being so close to its borders (and King Cendred not the biggest admirer of sorcerers either) and it must have been hard for Hunith. Gawain meanwhile would grow up in a world in which magic was rare, and powerful magic even rarer, but where it would be known and accepted. That was something, even if there was not much he could be taught.

“It could be a random hole in the fabric of the world,” Merlin suggested sarcastically and finally shouldered his things and walked to his horse. “So, where do we start?” Arthur shot him a look telling him exactly what he thought of 'holes in the fabric of the world' but kept quiet.

They had ridden around and gotten their bearings for the rest of the morning. The landscape was rough, rather different from the wooded lands around Camelot, the biggest plants they could see were bushes but mostly it was just grass, heather and shrub. That was probably explained by the sea being so close, Arthur would smell it in the breeze. Sometimes he thought the landscape was familiar from somewhere, other times he wondered if they were still in Albion or even on the isles. Merlin meanwhile seemed unconcerned even when they hadn't met anyone else by the end of the second day and when asked he just shrugged. “At least as we have clean water and free hunting, I don't see a problem. Enjoy it, who knows when you will next ride in such peace?”

In a way, the warlock was right, of course. War could come any day for whatever reason and he wasn't getting any younger. He knew that by the time he had taken over most of the military responsibilities at eighteen (too young to be knighted but old enough to act as the King’s proxy), his father had had to fight with many ailments of spending life as a warrior. Arthur himself probably had to thank Gaius and Merlin for keeping him as good in shape as his was, he knew that with many of the wounds he had suffered in the last few years, many other men would have lost the ability to move joints or muscles. All of that didn't change the fact though that he didn't know where he was and that his throne was currently unoccupied (even though Morgana had always kept things moving brilliantly).

It was four days before they saw another living person, and then they were hailed first from a distance. “Are you coming from Land's End? What is the news?” the man called from his horse, approaching them from their right. His speech was heavily accented but he did speak the common tongue well enough.

Before he could yell anything back, Merlin had already spurred his horse into a canter and was riding up to the stranger. Arthur cursed under his breath and followed. “We haven't come from Land's End but we haven't heard anything, either. You're the first soul we see in several days,” the warlock was currently saying in greeting. The other man nodded, spat to the side and mumbled something in a language that Arthur didn't understand.

“Farewell then. I am to meet my cousin there and I will not make it in time.” With that he rode off after acknowledging him with a single nod. Arthur stared after him, baffled.

“He didn't recognise me,” he finally said and looked at Merlin, who shook his head.

“Be prepared that most people won't recognise you. You're not dressed like a noble and hardly anyone ever sees the man who reigns over them. I hadn't seen King Cendred all my life until you took me there either. Where is Land's End?” The warlock pondered, he had obviously never heard of the place.

Arthur wasn't used to people not knowing who he was. Everyone usually knew him by sight no matter if noble or commoner but he while his clothes were good, they weren't embroided, except for the red of his tunic, nothing even bore the colours of his House, much less the heraldic dragon. And Merlin was right, it stood to reason that none of the people more than a few days ride from Camelot had heard of him unless they had somehow gotten into contact with him but... “The westernmost tip of the main island,” he answered distractedly, “in Cornweallas.” He sighed, looked at his friend. “Quite far from home.”

“Well, Morgana did say for you to away for a while,” Merlin answered and set his horse walking again. “It seems lonely here.”

“The villages are few and far in between, except for a few places where they still mine tin,” the King explained as they rode next to one another. There was no reason to hurry, the horses would have to carry them all the way back to Camelot, after all. “Morgana actually was born here, albeit farther north at the coast. We could stop by the ruins of Gorlois' castle and see. I haven't been there since it was set on fire.” His friend looked at him questioningly. “Morgana's father Gorlois was Duke of Cornweallas until he died. My father set the castle on fire to discourage anyone from assuming the title, considering that it technically belonged to Morgana.” But women didn't inherit titles, something that nagged at Arthur for more reasons than just that he only had a daughter himself. Something was wrong with that.

“Like you did with Dinas Emrys?” Merlin asked so quietly that he had almost missed it entirely.

He frowned. “Somewhat. Why are you getting all tied up whenever that is mentioned anyway?”

“I told you, it's nothing.” Yes, that was what the man had said countless of times. Back when they had been there already.

“Merlin. What is it with you and all the secrets?” Arthur knew Merlin kept things from him, unlike himself. He had never called his friend on that, until now, because he knew in his heart that Merlin did it because he thought it was better for Arthur, because he wanted to protect him. If and when the right was right though, he would learn them all, he wasn't only convinced of that, he trusted in that, trusted Merlin to make the right decision.

His friend wouldn't say anything for a long while, though. “Mordred called me Emrys,” he finally confided and it was as if he was suddenly setting down a weight. “In my mind. He said that's the name I have among his people. The dragon said that was my name indeed and that I hadn't read everything written about me yet. And when you said that the place was called Dinas Emrys...” He shrugged.

Frowning, Arthur looked at it from several angles. “Have you ever looked into it?”

“Most of the history was lost to the purging flames, you know that. The druids are a secretive people and probably would not say anything even if I knew where to find them. And to tell you the truth, I think a lot of what the dragon said is nothing but rubbish,” he shook his head. “Don't dwell on it, Arthur. I'm sure it is nothing but a coincidence.” The warlock didn't sound convinced and Arthur agreed with that sentiment but he didn't say any more about it.

~*~

Arthur was happy in a ridiculous way. They had spent weeks travelling only Cornweallas, mostly along the rugged coastline, but sometimes going further inland to see a sight that the King remembered from earlier visits with his father when he had been a boy. Merlin wondered if his friend had maybe momentarily forgotten about his station because people just treated him as they would other travellers, not realising he was their own sovereign. They weren't short on money but often as not of they stayed in a village they didn't pay for board but helped with whatever there was to do. It was the simple life that Arthur had once said didn't sound so bad.

Tintagel had been little more than a ruin and they hadn't spent a lot of time. The village was still sound but people were suspicious towards strangers ever since their duke had been killed when he was fighting for King Uther. And they did remember a little blond prince who had roamed the village with the duke's daughter many years ago, two noble children who nobody was able to tame. However, Merlin was happy to have seen it. The castle had set on a high cliff, truly approachable only from one side, the other one faced the water, which made it easily defensible. The wide land surrounding it would have made every enemy visible from many leagues off, giving the inhabitants plenty of time to prepare. He could imagine how Morgana had been a girl with a wooden sword, and even with sharp steel in her hands here, surrounded by a rough but beautiful landscape.

Devon had been much more versatile in its look and Merlin didn't think he'd ever seen so many different scapes in such a small area, there were rolling hills and moorlands and heathers as well as small patches of wood.

“Merlin,” Arthur's voice sounded impatiently into his thoughts. “Did you listen to me?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Of course you didn't.”

Just a few minutes ago they had sat together with a local man who had been full of stories, sharing them over ale with his two newfound drinking companions. Now they were alone at the table and Arthur obviously had been speaking to him while he had been dreaming. It was the first time in a while they were in an actual inn rather than a village and wayfarers food was a little different but a welcome change.

“Sorry, I was wondering where we'd go next,” he smiled.

The other man shook his head. “And if you had listened, you would know,” he got up and threw a few coins onto the table. “Come on!”

“Didn't we want to stay here for tonight? And where are we going anyway?” he grabbed his pack and got up.

Arthur grinned. “Secret.” When his gaze fell out the window he stopped though. “Did we already get a room?”

“And paid for the horses to be stabled,” Merlin yawned. The horses were the only thing that truly identified them as well off anymore. Neither of them shaved more than once every couple of weeks, all their clothes were dusty with travel and dirty with work by now and they didn't look like a King and his advisor but like two men who had been on the road for too long. The horses and their money was the only things worth stealing, really, the money no one expected on them (and bandits thought twice about attacking two well armed men on large horses one way or other) but the horses could just be taken from the stables if they had a mind to. Fact was though, both of them were battle trained and knew who their riders were, it was likely a thief would not live to actually see the theft through.

The King finally conceded with a shrug. He didn't do it often these days, more than enjoying the freedom of his decisions not having a direct impact on the kingdom. They had heard rumours about the King having been murdered by the warlock and the Queen was puppet to that warlock's every whim. Merlin was amused, as was everyone who had only once set eyes on the woman now or twenty years ago, but Arthur was less so, instead he was raving mad about it, hadn't seen that everything would solve itself once they were back in Camelot. Arthur didn't understand that returning magic to the country was already part of his legacy and these stories only added to that. 'Even if you never managed to accomplish anything else in your reign, magic would have forever been associated with your name', he had said as he tried to make his friend understand. 'And with yours', Arthur had answered tiredly as he fed sticks to a fire. Merlin had just shaken his head at that; in another four or five generations no one would remember him anymore but everyone would know Arthur Pendragon. And even if people still recalled him, he would only be known in his association with Arthur, never as he alone.

This time however, he probably just didn't want to waste money, the room was already paid, after all. “And now tell me where we're going tomorrow,” Merlin asked as they had left the bustling taproom behind.

“Told you, it's a secret.” Arthur was horrible at keeping secrets, though, and he quickly gave in, at least partly. “It's a place called Agnor, close to a village here in Somerset. There's something that requires our expertise.”

“...we have an expertise?”

“Wait and see, young warlock.” The King sounded awfully much like the dragon in that moment but Merlin shrugged the feeling off. If there was one person without any magical abilities in the world it was Arthur Pendragon, it had just been a figure of speech to taunt him, nothing more.

~*~

It had taken them longer than expected to reach the village that was their destination. “I really think you should have shaved,” Merlin complained, probably for the fifteenth time.

“Why bother? It's not like they know me anyway!” Arthur answered and looked over, his friend was shaven and actually wore clothes that were only dusty.

“Well, it could possibly help if you didn't look like a barbarian if you rode into their village, armed and on a charger, to declare yourself their saviour,” the warlock muttered.

“You think I look like a barbarian?”

“Arthur, if I didn't know you so well I wouldn't _recognise_ you under all that facial hair!” The King sighed and reigned in.

“Whatever.”

They finally rode into the village close to dusk and it took some negotiating for them to find someone to put them up for the night but the freshly shaven face he was displaying obviously helped to disperse any doubts the villagers had. For once, the warlock's idea had not been so bad, it seemed. They sat with their hosts, a middle aged couple, over a late supper when outside the howling started. At first it sounded a lot like a wolf but the sound grow deeper and more distinct after a few seconds, all resemblance of a wolf vanish at the bellow that followed.

“You were lucky,” the woman said, “that could have been you he got.”

Merlin looked up from his food. “Who?”

“Gwyllgi,” the man said. “That's what we call him. It's a giant hound, bigger than anything you've ever seen. His breath is said to be rank, and the eyes are flashing red as coals. I've seen them. He haunts the roads around this part of Somerset, at night that is. He will snatch any wayward traveller and drag him into the forest of Agnor two leagues out. No one who ends up in Gwyllgi's jaws ever returns.” His wife nodded.

Merlin threw Arthur a short look and he nodded. That was the story he had heard in the inn from the local and he had known then, that this was something they should take care of. It was his duty to protect his people and if the locals lord wouldn't do it, it obviously was his very own task.

“Some say it's a ghost. Some say it's real. Some even claim it's not a hound at all, but that's what everyone who has seen and lived to tell about it said,” the woman now stated and shrugged. Further inquiry revealed that no one ever went into the Agnor forest for fear of the hound and that no one had ever seen it by daylight.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered as he settled next to his bedroll, “however did you get the idea we should get involved in this?”

“Morgana said I should go find something that occupies me. Obviously, I did,” he answered with a yawn and shifted a handspan to the side to make room. “And besides, we have a reputation to uphold after all.”

“What kind of reputation?” the warlock sounded dubious and Arthur had to grin into the darkness, he had heard that tone so often and he knew the outcome, and that had nothing to do with him being King.

“As the slayers of dreadful monsters of course.”

“We do have a reputation as slayers of dreadful monsters?” In his mind's eye, Arthur could see raised eyebrows and he reached out to pat the other man's shoulder.

“Sure! The Afanc, the Questing Beast, the Basilisk...,” he counted.

Merlin coughed and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Two of those were pretty much my doing, though.”

“And yet I was the one getting all the tribute,” he answered wistfully.

“So what, I do all the work, you get all the merit?” the words sounded insulted but there was amusement in his friend's tone.

“It does work, does it not?”

“Oh, certainly. Whatever rolls your stockings down, your majesty.” Chuckling, Merlin sought out his own bedroll before Arthur could swat for him.

~*~

They spent the next morning thatching the roof of the pig sty as payment for room and board the previous night, since neither the husband nor the wife trusted themselves to climb up there anymore. Over a short break for something to eat at noon, Arthur had obviously made up his mind about the matter. “Say, is this Gwyllgi a big problem for you around here?” It was a question so casually posed that Merlin almost laughed, instead he just swallowed the cheese that he was chewing on. It was interesting how Arthur, who had been raised as a prince and had only ever learned to command people, was interacting with these simple folk, like he was a bard fishing for a new story.

The wife regarded him for a long moment through narrowed eyes. “Why, what concern is it of yours?”

“I thought me and my friend here could maybe do something about it. We've dealt with monsters before,” the King shrugged casually.

The man snorted. “What? Ghosts, too? Wraiths?”

Merlin looked up sharply at his friend, who had to know that they couldn't do anything about those. Not with the weapons they carried, at least. But Arthur remained calm and returned his look levelly. “We've seen them,” he said. Not a lie. Not a confirmation of having defeated them either, though.

“People don't just offer to slay demons. What is it you want?” the woman asked, suspicion clear in her face now.

“We want nothing,” Merlin sighed. “My friend has been...strongly advised to find something to occupy himself with as far from his home as possible. I'm just here to look out that nothing happens to him.”

“And he wants to do this out of the goodness of his heart?” she added with an exaggerated nod. Yes, that was indeed the case...but she would never believe that, of course, in her world nobody outside of the close-knit community of the village did anything beneficiary just because they could.

Arthur looked as if he wanted to protest but Merlin kicked him against the shin to keep him quiet. “You cannot tell this to anyone,” he said quietly, conspiratory, “but it is a quest, bestowed upon us by her majesty the Queen. You have heard of her highness Queen Morgana, haven't you?” The couple nodded. They were still close enough in age to the former duke of Cornweallas for Morgana's name to be familiar and she was generally known to have an open ear for the people. “We are here to make sure the kingdom remains safe.”

“And why are you telling such a different story then?” the man asked, obviously still not convinced.

The warlock shrugged. “Look at us. We're not travelling under the colours of Camelot. It is much easier to say my friend was kicked out by his wife and now he's seeking adventures.”

“And why him and not you?”

“Which one of us looks more like he would do all that?” Arthur would have protested again, Merlin could just feel it, so he kicked him again for good measure. The look he received was dark enough to him grin to himself.

Eyes went back and forth between them. “You do have a point,” the man agreed grudgingly.

~*~

“Interesting story you told back there,” Arthur remarked later with a good portion of sarcasm as they were on their way to the forest Agnor for a first look, even though the hound had never appeared in daylight. The couple had told them a little more about Gwyllgi and had even asked some of their neighbours to add stories they had heard.

“It was not exactly a lie,” Merlin replied and Arthur was sure he would have crossed his arms over his chest if they hadn't been riding. “And you were riding for a fall back there, they would have told you nothing if you'd said who we are.”

“Maybe but what will they think know when they find out? How do you think that will look in the chronicles, King Arthur rides his lands without revealing himself to anyone?” He didn't care about the chronicles, not _really_, but he knew Merlin did to an extent that bordered almost on obsession (and looking at how they were missing a good piece of what was the actual history of the country he could understand).

His friend just looked over though. “Arthur, I don't think anyone will care about that. Besides, in two or three generations, when people pick up those chronicles again, they will think old Geoffrey made them all up anyway.”

“Oh? Weren't you the one who was saying all kinds of things about my legacy just recently?”

“Sure. And I still do and I still think you will have a great legacy but that also is exactly my point. Your legacy will be... Think of it. You have survived how many attempts on your life? And that is just until now.” He shook his head. “You fought creatures, magical and otherwise, you united the whole south of the island within just a few years of your reign and now you and your court warlock are travelling all the land and fighting even _more_ creatures.” He blinked, grinned. “That sounds an awful lot like a story we could tell our children to put them to bed but not like an actual account of a life. And who knows what's to come in the next few decades?”

Merlin had a point, Arthur had to admit. Nevertheless, they were here, both of them, free of obligations but the one to reach their home again, something he would never have thought possible again after assuming the throne. Morgana (and whoever had brought them to Cornweallas) had done him a favour, and he had the inkling that she knew that very well. To Merlin, too, although the warlock seemed concerned for some reason once in a while, like there was something he wanted to say but didn't quite know how.

Arthur wanted to ask, he did, but then they were at the edge of the forest and stopping. His friend looked at him. “You do know that we have no way of defeating it if it's a ghost or a wraith, right?”

“Yes, _Merlin_. You said that before already.” And it was getting old, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agnor... AgNOR are silver-staining nucleolar organizer/organisation regions. Biostuff *g* I was cramming hard at the time and it sounded like a good name for a haunted place ^^


	18. Chapter 18

Arthur still dreamed of it, after that. Merlin's blood sticking to his hands, making everything he touched slick with it. Not letting them find purchase; his friend literally slipping through his fingers. Arthur still dreamed of yelling Merlin's name.

Sometimes, it woke him up. Sometimes, he was shaken awake and a voice spoke to him in calm undertones, until he stopped screaming.


	19. Chapter 19

Morgana didn't know if the birth of her second child had been easier than the first. She didn't remember much of Isabella's birth; she knew she had been overwhelmed by visions but couldn't recall a single one. Rhain's birth had felt quick but she knew it had taken the whole night, labour having started around dinner and she had finally been born just before dawn. This time, she remembered. And she wished she didn't.

All of a sudden, Arthur's death had become a reality she never even thought about before. He was young, after all, but a seasoned warrior, and even though he was an idiot as a statesman, he had always been a clever fighter. And then there was Merlin, who had promised her to keep him from harm. Yet, she had seen him lying dying, still youthful, hardly a line on his face, no grey in his hair yet. He couldn't be much older than he was now, it couldn't be long.

She had seen Merlin, the warlock looking sorrowful, broken, obviously unable to comprehend what had happened. Merlin, still unlined like her husband, his hair still dark and the unexplainable youth he still possessed today still radiating from him as well.

At the same time, she had also seen herself, older. It puzzled her, this discrepancy. Her own hair had grey strands in it, her face was lined. Kneeling next to Arthur, she had stroked his temples like she had done to Uther, too, when he had died. Why she had been on what unmistakeably was a battlefield, she didn't know. But there were many faces she recognised, albeit all of them older, many of them lying already dead, only very few still standing, wearing the colours of Camelot. Those who weren't were unknown to her, men with swords and shields, axes, no knights but men at arms and simple people from the fields. Among them, there was only one familiar face; one she had known when it still belonged to a little boy, one she had hidden, protected from the former King’s blindness to reason. She didn't know his name, never had, probably never would. And she knew, without the shadow if a doubt, that this man who had been a boy had wounded Arthur, only to be slain by the King's sword himself.

Gwen had been there. Lancelot.

Hunith had taken good care of her and the baby. Morgana was thankful for Merlin's mother, that she had been there at the right time. And yet, she didn't forget what she had seen. Why had she been on a battlefield? Morgana had never known why she had visions, why she saw what was to come if she couldn't do anything to stop it. This time however, maybe there was a chance. Never before had she seen herself.

Arthur had come home several months after that, full of stories of his travels. Isabella had hung on his hips for weeks after that, loving to have her father back after such a long time. It was peaceful for a while, they weren't even arguing. Yet Morgana knew somehow that Arthur wasn't telling all of it, not even when the girl was already in bed. It was the first time ever since she had known him that he had kept something to himself for such a long time and there seemed to be parts that not even Merlin knew about, even though he wasn't admitting it, saying everything was all right. And everything was. She couldn't say that her husband had come home a changed man, not at all, but sometimes there was a flicker in his eyes that she couldn't interpret. On the other hand, she was rather preoccupied with matters of her own.

The door opened without a knock and she looked up from watching the cradle rock on the rushes. “If it isn't my wayward husband blessing me with his presence,” she remarked as he pushed the door closed behind him and walked up to her, one hand reaching into the cradle to softly stroke over his daughter's head. “To what do I owe the honour?”

“Weren't you the one who kicked me out? Wasn't she, Rhain?” The little girl made a content noise and smiled in her sleep. To his credit, Arthur had been the only one who had not been surprised at her giving a boy's name to a girl. She looked like it, it had seemed appropriate.

The Queen sighed, it was a pointless discussion. “Can I do something for you?”

“You can. I started digging into that mountain you left in my chambers,” obviously, he had finally come upon the documents that had accumulated over the months of his absence. His pointed tone let her now that his majesty the King was Not Pleased.

“You mean, Merlin has started to read it all.”

He gave her a look, ignoring her interjection. “And I don't quite understand this missive from King Hywel. What does he want?”

She blinked, frowned. “What about 'Let us form an alliance' is so hard to understand, Arthur?”

“Nothing. The question is why would he want that?” It puzzled him, that much was clear.

“The envoy said he had heard what people were saying about you all the way to the mainland,” she recalled. “He was a young one and when I told him that you weren't available to make such decisions he excused himself about a hundred times. And then the second missive arrived. And so forth.” Arthur murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'I told him we had a reputation' but wouldn't elaborate on it, just made a gesture for her to go on. “There's nothing more.”

The King brooded over this for a while, all the while keeping an eye on his daughter. It was like he had just come to the rooms to see her. “What do we know about him?”

“King Hywel?”

“No, Morgana, the man who ferried the envoy across the channel.” He crossed his arms for a moment and glared.

She got up angrily. “If you want to consult with the archives yourself, you are welcome to them. Third shelf on the left from the door, second tier, all the way to the back is the history of his family, the rest is written in the tomb.” They stared at each other for a long moment, her telling him unmistakenly that yes, she was serious.

“Fine. Go on,” he finally averted his eyes and she allowed herself a small smile.

“The answer is: not much. He is King in a part of Brittany and the only thing worth mentioning is that he abolished the rule that you have to be born noble to serve the King at weapons. He did that out of need close to the beginning of his reign because many of his lords had died in revolts and had left children too young to inherit yet. He himself is not married and has no children; heir presumptive is his nephew Joseph.” Rhain had woken up by now and was happily playing with her father's fingers. She would be hungry, soon.

“Good tutelage?” The King raised an eyebrow.

Crossing her own arms she looked at him from her position at the window. “I can read, your majesty.”

“That still doesn't explain why he suddenly sends such a missive.” No, it just shows you don't listen to me, she really wanted to say it, but what would be the point?

It was quite fun to watch the man brood. To everyone else he was King Arthur; mighty, larger than life and just the King, to her he was still the boy she had grown up with, whose lessons had to be separated from hers because she had done so much better than him and Uther hadn't wanted to embarrass his only son. “When you were out travelling, word has reached him of your treatment of commoners. It seems like you did reveal yourself often enough.”

“Oh! _That_ reputation!” he grinned up at her and she had to wonder if he possibly had acquired another one in the many months he had been away. “So what does he want?”

“An alliance between Albion and Brittany.”

“Yes, that's in the missive. But why?”

She really didn't know if Arthur was that thick in the head or if he just pretended. Merlin would have to answer her a few questions, first of which was if the King had fallen on the head sometimes in the last months. “I guess forging an alliance with you on a verbal basis only is better than having you overrun him at some point and take his kingdom from him. Especially since one of his dukes is originally from Albion.”

“Lancelot?” Seemed like he was still able to be quick, after all.

“Yes.”

“I haven't heard from Lancelot himself since my father had him thrown out of the country,” he pondered.

She smiled. “But Hywel doesn't know that, does he?”

“Most likely not. But I would never go over to Brittany just to invade, how would I control the country there?” It was a valid point but none that had hindered the Romans from building an empire.

“Leaving the completely foreign idea of 'caution' aside,” the look he shot her was probably meant to tell her that he wasn't as stupid as she thought he was but she just smiled. “The envoy was a little nervous about the presence of 'the nightmarish warlock'.”

Arthur actually burst out laughing after a second, which made Rhain laugh, too. “Oh yes. And who would be afraid of _Merlin_?”

She began reminding him with raised eyebrows. “Well, Vortigern's guards, for one. And I suppose the people who witnessed King Edwin's demise would have a point, too... Magic has been gone from the mainland for generations now, Arthur, don't forget that.”

“Fine, yes.” He got up. “I'll draft a reply, let him know we won't let the warlock burn him and his kingdom in a ball of all-consuming fire.” Winking, he left the room.

When her husband was gone, the Queen sat back down. “Oh Arthur. Just what are you going to do without me?” But there was no changing her decision. Just trusting that she was making the right one.

~*~

Merlin came to lean next to her against the fence. “Are you all right?” The warlock didn't dawdle around much these days, and Morgana often missed the cheerful boy he had been when he had first come to Camelot; and then he did something again and it was as if no time had passed at all.

“Managed to pry yourself loose from Arthur's chambers?” she smiled and they watched the King train the men together. Some of those knights were so young, they seemed more like squires than like actual Sirs themselves. Arthur had never been that young - or so it seemed to her, he had been commanding men at eighteen - and yet he still was; her husband was a man of many faces.

“You knew I would be the one who had to read all those scrolls,” Merlin answered a little indignantly and she could have sworn he wanted to pout.

Morgana nodded. “I did.” She watched Isabella enter the circumference after the men were done, only Arthur still stood and waited. They had yet to put real steel into her hands but that could wait a few years, still. “It was payback for having all the fun and leaving me with all the work.”

“Oh we worked, Morgana, we sure did.” He nodded.

“A few mythical creatures less roaming the country, are there?” Listening to the stories had been interesting, even the children's-versions that Isabella and Gawain got to hear. “There are enough still remaining to keep the two of you busy in the years to come, I trust?”

Her friend laughed, grinned. “I don't think there ever will be a shortage of that. Your majesty, if people see that you let yourself be cornered by a girl with a wooden sword, they will start talking!” He called the last bit over to the King, grinning. She had to agree with Arthur, when looking at the warlock here in their private world, she didn't know how anyone would be afraid of him; the ready smile and calm exterior were quite fooling. There was a darker side to him, the knights had told her about what had happened at the late Lord Vortigern's abode, yet she knew but she wasn't capable of seeing him as anything but someone who would do anything to protect her family.

“Mumma? What's wrong?” Isabella rubbed her eyes and raised her head a little when she stepped into the room. Gawain was still sleeping on the other bed in the room and Morgana made a soothing sound when she sat down. “It's all right, deary. Keep on sleeping.” The moon was bright outside the window, the night warm.

Morgana sat there for a long time, watching her oldest daughter sleep. She was almost six years old, Rhain was soon to be a year. Their father was King in Camelot, King of Albion and there was no question that they would have a bright future. Morgana didn't know what would happen to them, only Gawain's path seemed to be predestined, he would eventually follow in his father's footsteps as warlock to the Court of Camelot, maybe even under one of his foster sisters' rule - nothing seemed impossible with Arthur on the throne. She smiled through a tear rolling down her cheek. Her husband was an idiot but his heart was strong and pure, despite of the blood he had spilled on battlefields. Ultimately, she was convinced that he would do right by his daughters, by the country and its people as well as by himself and those close to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Rhain' is a Welsh name and means 'spear' (or 'lance'); it seemed appropriate to keep the battle theme in the childrens' names.  
> King Hywel is another figure of Arthurian lore, mentioned as one of Arthur's knights. His domain indeed was in Brittany and he had a nephew named Joseph. Modern transcription would be King Hoel.  
> I wrote this part back in late January or early February (2009). Long, LONG before the Dr. Who Easter Special. But well, you know: There are no coincidences in the world ;)


	20. Chapter 20

“Your domain is in the King Cendred's Kingdom, is it not?” Arthur inquired of the man who was kneeling in front of the throne, a quite uncommon sight, especially considering that this man was the proud chieftain of a clan.

“Yes, my lord,” the clan chief answered without looking up.

The King frowned. “So why come to me? Why not ask for protection from your own King?”

“King Cendred is sick, your majesty, and his sons don't care much about what happens in the kingdom, they're busy fighting out who will inherit.” He took a deep breath. “We could only come and appeal to you or to King Lot but he is known to be as cold and cruel and his islands.”

Arthur shot a look to Merlin but he just shrugged. He had heard nothing of their ally-King being sick but such messages usually didn't reach other courts until much later. “Sick?” the warlock asked, frowning.

The older man nodded, looking up at Merlin for the first time. Not many people outside of court did that anymore these days, look him directly in the eye. “Dying, my lord.”

“I am no lord,” Merlin murmured and the look he received from Arthur would have made him tell the King to shut up in any other setting. “Is the succession not clear? Are the boys twins?”

“No, my lo- No, they aren't. But King Cendred never bothered to crown the heir apparent as the successor or commit his wishes to writing. Their quarrel is a pointless one but until they have solved it the kingdom falls into disregard.”

Merlin exchanged a look with Arthur and saw that his friend, too, had understood that two brothers quarrelling for the crown could mean a possible risk of invasion for Albion, treaty or no. “And you wish my protection?” the King asked presently, eyes back on his petitioner.

“My clan is very much able to look after itself under normal circumstances; my ancestors were not subjugated but joined the kingdom of Northumbria at their own volition,” MacIlvain defended himself. “There is, however, a gathering of forces from across the waters that is making it hard for us to withstand assaults.”

“What forces?” likely Arthur was thinking of the Vikings, the people of the northern mainland who had haunted the shores of Britain for many years. Arthur himself had battled them before, once shortly after almost dying at Vortigern's fort. Merlin had been mad, for his friend had simply gone off and ordered him to stay behind 'to prove once and for all that magic is welcome in Albion, but I do not need it to win my battles'.

But the clan chief just shook his head. “We don't know. They do not come in the ships typical for the northmen, for theirs are smaller, but that is all we can say. Will you help us, lord? I have a son and two young daughters, if you require...certainties.”

The King waved him off. “I don't take hostages. You will be informed of my decision, until then you will be accommodated in the guest quarters.” The Northumbrian had been the last petitioner for the day and the scribes started to pack their instruments to leave soon after as well, leaving their sovereign with his warlock and his guard.

“Very coincidental,” Merlin remarked after a few moments of silence.

“King Cendred dying...,” Arthur mused with a frown.

“His sons quarrelling among themselves.” It was a thread easily continued. Too easily.

“And just then someone attacks the coastal villages.”

“It's odd.”

“When we were asked for help in Ealdor and my father didn't want to grant it we didn't hesitate,” the sigh sounded tired, but it had been a long day of court, petitions had come in from all over the kingdom, often as not for proxies to sit trial.

Merlin threw his friend a look. “That was _my mother_ asking, not a random person just showing up.”

Arthur made a calming gesture. “I'm aware of that, what I meant to say is the situation is similar.”

“Cendred wasn't dying, then. And he might not be now, either.”

“True,” the King waved his hand in a way that the servants knew to mean 'bring wine'. “He did offer hostages, however.”

“Which he knew you would decline.” Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “You have a-”

“Reputation, yes yes. I heard that before. What else could he want though?” He accepted a cup and drank. “What is the use?”

“Start a war? Have you break a treaty? Because if you march into Northumbria with a column of knights, that can be seen as exactly that. Or he wants to invade Camelot while you are gone. Or he simply wants to assassinate you.” He could have gone on. Almost endlessly. A royal court had turned out to be more of a collection of intrigues, secrecy and meddlers than he had ever thought possible.

The King got up suddenly and walked out the door and started climbing the stairs up to his chambers. “Camelot is impenetrable. We can last a year of siege, more even with the new storehouses and good years like this one seems to be.” He turned around abruptly and had to reach out a hand and snatch his friend by his tunic to keep Merlin from tumbling backwards down the stairs; the reflexes of a warrior sure were a blessing sometimes. “Idiot. Even when I'm gone, the men know how to defend the castle. And why would I break a treaty that easily?”

The warlock found his balance again and they climbed the rest of the way. “Because, sire, you are not known for your patience.”

“Nonsense.” Merlin chose to not comment. Arthur did the same with the rest of his arguments. “So we send an envoy to Cendred and ask after him? Do we have reports from anywhere else regarding raids?”

“They wouldn't come to us, since that part is not in your domain, Arthur.”

“No, Merlin, it is not. However, you show me a raiding party who cares about a thing like borders,” the King responded haughtily and his friend had to admit to that grudgingly. They entered Arthur's bedroom, which hadn't changed much at all since he had assumed the throne except for the person waiting for his master's return. “You can leave us, Garanwyn.” It was a short dismissal but the boy was used to it by now. Although, Merlin reflected, 'boy' was maybe the wrong word; Sir Kay's son was almost old enough to be knighted himself, although he had not yet voiced a wish in this direction and the warlock was of the opinion that he liked serving Arthur more in the capacity of a manservant than as an actual squire; maybe he should talk to his friend about that. “Sending a message takes too long.”

Merlin nodded. “You know yourself how long even a skilled rider with multiple horses takes to reach Cendred's court and he would have to take the same way back.”

“How about you just,” Arthur reached out a hand and wiggled his fingers around in what was probably supposed to look magicky.

Raising an eyebrow, his friend crossed his arms. “Have you ever seen me do a translocation spell?”

“No? But what would you have done if my father had ever caught you?”

“Manipulated the locks in the dungeon. Hoped you would have protected me from being burnt at the stake?” he added the last bit as he saw how the King’s head tilted.

“And get sacked by my father,” Arthur nodded in the exaggerated way he had sometimes when he wanted to mock.

“Weren't you the one who said Crown Princes can't be sacked?”

“He might have made an exception, then. So what about that message?”

The warlock sighed and dragged a piece of parchment from under a pile on the table, looked at it. “Wings? The wind?” he pondered. “I'll figure something out. Have it fly there, maybe. It's paper, it should be carried easily, as long as it doesn't rain. What do you want to write? You can't outright ask if his majesty, King Cendred, is dying.”

Merlin was still regarding the parchment with a large part of his attention when he heard Arthur's voice. “We could pretend to ask him if he's seen Morgana and wait who actually responds?” Meeting his eyes wasn't difficult. Nodding wasn't difficult. Leaving to look for the spell was.

~*~

Morgana's absence hadn't been noted until late in the afternoon. It wasn't unusual that she didn't attend court, especially since she was known to not leave her children only in the care of servants. Gwen had alerted them, after she had returned from a day spent at the market, when they were brooding over a map of the isles dating back to Roman times.

Arthur didn't worry, at first and Merlin knew that the Queen often went about her own affairs without telling anyone, but usually Gwen was privy to this so she wouldn't have said anything. The first idea that something could be wrong though came to Arthur when she wasn't back by nightfall, as was usually the case. And when Isabella asked him as he said good night to her where her mother was and that she had come into the room a few nights prior.

The next day, however, had seen a groom, the armourer and the treasurer seeking out their King.

“The Queen demanded a swift and enduring horse, your majesty. And she demanded I don't tell anyone about it until the day and a night had passed,” the groom stated, not looking up.

“The Queen demanded two swords fit for her and her own armour and demanded I don't tell anyone about it until the day and a night had passed, your majesty,” the armourer said in the same fashion.

The treasurer told a similar story, but about as many pieces of gold and silver as she could carry covertly. All three men had obviously been more scared of Morgana's bullying than of punishment by their King. Arthur could relate, Merlin knew, once he had heard (purely by accident) her very cheerfully threaten the King to rip off his balls in a side sentence. The King dismissed them with a wave of his hand and the three unwilling accomplices scrambled from the audience chamber.

“There will be no record of this,” Arthur said quietly with a stern look at his scribe, who didn't seem to dare look at his sovereign. The warlock sighed, his friend's mood had darkened to midnight black within a few seconds and everyone seemed to notice.

When the King finally dismissed court (for the better, he looked like he would draw his sword any minute and slay everyone in the room and soak the magnificent tapestries depicting battlescenes on the walls in blood), all men hurried from the hall, no matter if they were a simple servant or a seasoned guard.

“Merlin,” Arthur held him back, his voice commanding, the I'm-annoyed-with-you-and-will-let-you-feel-it tone.

“Yes, sire?” Merlin sighed quietly, turned around and faced his lord.

The King narrowed his eyes. “Wine. And ale.”

“I will tell-”

“_You_ will bring it. To my chambers. Now, Merlin,” he made a wide gesture with one arm while leaning his elbow on the armrest, looking for all the world like the snotty and arrogant prince he had been so many years ago, but sitting in the wrong chair.

That night, Merlin was woken up by Sir Geraint, the young man's face looking pale and drawn in the light of the candle he held in his hand. “My lord, you have to wake up.”

He didn't bother correcting him, just sat up slowly, shielding his eyes from the glare of the light. “What's wrong?” The warlock just hoped Arthur hadn't taken a joyride and broken his neck in the process. That would be just what they needed right then.

The knight bit his lower lip, showing how young he truly was, still. He hadn't seen a serious fight yet, just as many of the ones who had come to Camelot in recent years; they all were sufficiently blooded but hardly any of them had seen war of larger proportions. Merlin hoped they wouldn't have to, either, but knew it would likely be in vain. “I think there is a ghost in the central tower.”

“A ghost.” To say he was sceptical would have been an understatement. He had seen ghosts. They had encountered several on their travels but all of them had been there for hundreds of years. Camelot had been ghost free to this day and Merlin had trouble recalling anyone with enough vigour in them to actually come back and haunt the place.

“Yes. There's...moaning. And...I think. I think, singing. From the top.” Gerait seemed convinced and probably wouldn't be told otherwise.

Merlin had climbed out of bed and thrown a long tunic over his frame. “Lead the way, then, we'll see about your...ghost.”

He had seen Arthur drunk plenty of times and had hauled his lord's drunken arse into bed so often when he had still been his manservant that he had lost count, but never before had the King been this out of it and beside himself. No wonder Gerait had thought him a ghost, the sounds echoing down into the courtyard were disturbed by wind and echo and if he hadn't known Arthur as well as he did, Merlin would never have recognised his voice. Sending the young man back to his post and climbing the stairs, he finally came to the top where his majesty was walking around seemingly without aim, decanter in one hand and sword in the other, waving around both wildly.

Merlin stayed safely out of reach and cleared his throat. “Arthur. What are you doing here?”

The King swirled around, the sword would have sliced the warlock right through. “Oh. If it isn't _Merlin_. My warlock, who didn't foresee that my wife was going to leave!” His voice was surprisingly clear, but that was one thing about Arthur; no matter how drunk he got, no matter how obvious it was in his words or his actions, his speech never ran together, words always clear and punctuated.

“Sire, I'm not a seer. We established that years ago. I had an extensive discussion about it with-,” he just caught himself but the other man waved off.

“Go on. You can say it. Her name. Morgana. Moooooorgana!” An almost hysterical laugh erupted from him, then he suddenly turned brooding. “I wonder what she's doing now.” Merlin didn't have an answer for it so he just waited. His friend was still walking around and waving his weapon and the wine in turn, taking a gulp until the liquid was dribbling down his chin. When he came towards Merlin, the warlock had to duck from under the blade and step aside. It was almost like a dance; the problem was that Arthur didn't hold to his own rules of fighting when drunk and that Merlin himself only ever managed the country dances and was hopeless at the formal ones which were fashionable at court; this way he would lose an eye this night. “You know, I wanted to run away once, too. Far away. Where my father couldn't reach me. I thought...Brittany! Rome! Where I could battle the Emperor and then rule over his lands. And I would never have to see any of my tutors again. I was ten.” A humourless grin appeared, then the King turned his back.

“I'm sure there are reasons-”

“Yes yes yes. Like I have reasons to do this,” Arthur suddenly jumped onto the low balustrade that spanned the tower's top with a precision that belied his drunken state and Merlin's breath just stopped. The King waved his arms around. “Did you know I can fly? Flyyyyyyyyyy!” The warlock swallowed and slowly went closer to pull his friend off and to safety (swearing he would have the wall heightened) when the other man turned around suddenly, feet firmly planted on the stone, and set his sword to the warlock's neck. “Trying to sneak up one me, eh, warlock? Like people said you did less literally way back when I abolished the law of magic, right?” Arthur could be such a bully still, nothing had changed from when Merlin had first laid eyes on the snotty blond prince and hadn't believed that petty tyrant was to run a kingdom someday.

It was a waste of time to try to reason with the man when he was this drunk, yet Merlin tried anyway. “I'd just like you to come down from there. You may be able to fly,” maybe humouring might work, “but I can't and we're having a discussion here.” Or something like that, anyway. Was it a discussion if your sovereign just rambled at you and you tried to keep him from jumping to his death?

“Right. No flying warlocks. Imagine how ridiculous that would be!” Stepping down from the balustrade, Arthur took another gulp from the decanter, then turned that up on end to demonstrate that it was empty. “No more wine. But it's such a long way to the storerooms! What were we talking about? Right. Morgana. Morgana, Morgana, Morgana. I should have a song written about her, to be sung in all the taverns and inns in the kingdom and beyond. We should have all the talented bards invited and let them perform and the best gets the gold. The song needs to start with her descent from the Duke of Cornweallas! Of course.”

“You can give the order in the morning. You really should go to your chambers now,” the warlock remarked, knowing full well that Arthur would remember nothing come morning. Or hardly anything.

But Arthur just laughed loud and bellowing, probably making poor Sir Geraint wet his breeches. “You know Merlin, I know your secret.”

“Yes, my lord, you know I am a warlock.” He nodded. Anything to keep the man away from the edge.

But Arthur just waved his sword around in a flurry that was probably a negation. “No no no. Not _that_. What are you digging that out for? _That's_ no secret. I mean your secret, _Merlin_. You know! That you don't age! At all! Although, really, how do you do that? Is it a spell? Come now, you can tell me.” He had come closer and now slung an arm around Merlin's shoulders. The King smelled strongly of wine, he must have started drinking hours ago.

The warlock had no idea what the man was talking about though, he had never heard such nonsense of 'not ageing'. But Arthur probably couldn't judge. Not in the state he was in. And anyway. The King spent most of his time among the knights, men who had seen battle and did so on a semi-regular basis. War let men age, just as much as life-long physical labour did and everyone Arthur's own face showed small signs of that already, laugh-lines around the eyes... And while Merlin had accompanied him to battles, he never had been _really_ fighting; wielding magic around was not the same as holding a sword and cutting enemies to pieces. “I don't know what you're talking about, your majesty.” The physical proximity at least let him take the weapon out of Arthur's hands though and let him slowly guide him to the stairs. “What do you say we get some more wine? And stop by your chambers first?”

The prospect of more wine seemed to be incentive enough for the King to follow somewhat willingly and Merlin managed to get him down from the tower and into his chambers without much fuss and only two almost-tumbles down the steep stairs.

“Wine!” Arthur called and Merlin was thankful that the closest rooms were Arthur's own and no one else was likely to be disturbed this late. Sighing, the warlock pressed a cup of water into the other man's hands, who just sputtered at the taste. “Wine, Merlin, wine!” But he didn't pay attention. He magically bared the windows (if Arthur thought he could fly, one never knew what ideas his wine-addled brain might come up with) and stepped out the door, Arthur still complaining until he magicked the lock. Then Merlin left. He would simply wait for morning and his friend to be sober.

“Merlin!” a young voice filtered into his consciousness and his eyes snapped open instantly. “Finally,” Isabella sighed and hoisted her sister higher into her arms.

He blinked at her. “Did anyone ever tell you that you sound a lot like your father?” The girl shook her head with an indignation that he only ever had seen in Arthur and the image of her looking a lot like her mother but with the King's character blended into her confused him for the moment that sleep still lingered in his mind. Gawain climbed onto the foot end of the bed and made a gesture with his hand, upon which a stream of water spilled over Merlin's head, looking up showed him a pail upended suspended above his head that was now clattering to the floor. The little boy grinned broadly, Rhain giggled and clapped her hands and the oldest of them had difficulties holding onto her composure as well.

“Are you awake now?” she asked with a smile that was only barely concealing her laughter that danced in her eyes. She was a serious child, intelligent but it was clear who her father was and that only became more and more obvious every day.

The look he gave her was meant to tell her exactly what he thought of this action but no matter how much she seemed like Arthur, she was too young to understand it all. Consequently he rubbed his face dry with his hands and swung his feet over the bed. “Certainly, your highness. What can I do for you?” It was already light outside but not quite bright enough for most of the castle to be up and about.

“My father will not hold court this morning?” Despite the questioning tone, it was more of a statement than a question and he raised an eyebrow at her. “I am not deaf, Merlin. Nor was the banging against the door of his bedchambers and his shouting very unmistakable earlier when I passed by it.” The children's rooms were on the other side of the family wing from where Arthur slept, much closer to Morgana's chambers. There was no way she had passed her father's door under normal circumstances. But what she said also meant that he wasn't sober, yet.

“I guess he will not,” the warlock said and yawned. In the end it was no real concern of his what the Princess had done at her father's chambers, she had every right to prowl the castle all she liked; and the night had been extremely short.

“I'll be getting ready,” she turned around and made for the door but he held her back.

“You can't hold court, Isabella,” he smiled with amusement. No matter how mature she _seemed_ at times (and he was willing to bet she was more so than her father had been during his own childhood) she was still only barely six years old. “You have to be at least sixteen.”

She rolled her eyes at him, a habit she would have to grow out of quickly. “I know that. But you can't cancel court by yourself. I can. And with mother gone and father..._sick_? It is my task.” Theoretically, it was the seneschal or castellan's task, but she acted extremely convincing and the less people had to know about the King's...condition, the bet-

“Gone?” he echoed hollowly. Surely, she didn't mean the Queen was dead.

Tilting her head, she shifted her grip on her sister. Isabella was a strong girl but the weight of an almost one year old child had to be heavy on her, too. “Mother isn't coming back, Merlin. She left and won't return to Camelot.”

“Are you sure?” She sounded so sure that it was eerie, Gawain meanwhile looked on in silence, only his eyes letting on that he was actually listening and wasn't otherwise distracted; he probably didn't understand too much of it, though, he was only just five.

“Yes, Merlin, I'm sure. Can I go and get ready now? Gawain are you coming?” Her foster brother jumped off his father's bed and ran to the door, pulling it open.

“Wait wait. Just a second. How do you know that?” Merlin was still bewildered; the princess had said that Morgana had sat with her two nights before she had left but nothing of a talk had been mentioned before.

Tuning around again, the Princess walked out the door and the warlock thought she wouldn't answer at all, but just before she stepped over the sill, she said very quietly, “Rhain told me.” And she was gone; but that only left him more confused than anything, the younger girl wasn't even speaking yet, much less comprehended any proceedings of court how could she...?

Isabella acted beautifully. The children were normally banned from attending court until their formal education started but Merlin knew the older girl tended to sneak in despite that. She had walked in (Gawain trailing behind her leading a waddling Rhain by the hand), drawn herself up straight and to her full height (while she reached only to the hip or waist of most of the guards) and declared convincingly that neither of her parents would be able to hold court that day because they were laid up. She was a Princess of the Pendragon House, no one questioned her statements, no one dared to ask.

Merlin was still smiling with amusement (his former ponderings over her answer regarding Rhain pushed aside) when he carried the tablet with food up to Arthur's rooms. He undid his own spell and opened the door with a small magical push and was in. The bedchamber stank. There was no other word for it; of wine, ale and human being. The warlock stopped breathing for a few seconds and magicked open the windows, calling the wind to gush through. His majesty was sprawled out on the bed, sleeping, breathing noisily, not far from snoring; several empty decanters on the table. Merlin was at a loss where those had appeared from, he had checked the room that night, looking for one of Arthur's infamous secret stashes but had found none. The warlock shook his head, left the food, gathered the empty decanters and magicked windows and doors back shut. He would return later, when his friend was awake again.

Four days passed before Arthur sobered again. Four days, Isabella dismissed court without comment, but there was talk among the attendees, Merlin noticed. Four days, he wondered where the King managed to hide that much alcohol from him. Four days, he was the only one who would see the man, take food to him, air out the room; Arthur would be either sprawled out on the bed or raving about one thing or other, not making any sense at all.

When the warlock entered the familiar chambers just before dawn on the fifth day with a sigh, he found his friend sitting in his chair, chin resting in one hand and staring at him. “I need a bath,” was all he said, making no attempt of getting up.

“You do indeed,” Merlin answered with a smile. Arthur could see a shadow vanish from the man's eyes in the time of a single heartbeat and he wondered what had actually come to pass. He had just gotten a little drunk, that was neither a reason for Merlin to look like he had to carry a pile of stones up and down the stairs all day long nor to lock him into his own bedroom without even the possibility to let some air in. “Do you still think you can fly?” Arthur thought he might be getting drunk from his own breath again. Fly? What kind of nonsense was the man talking of?

“If anyone could, it would be me, I guess,” he just answered distractedly. “Why did no one clean up here the last few days?” The look on Merlin's face was priceless, or would have been if Arthur had known why he deserved it. The warlock opened his mouth as if to say something but then seemed to think better of it and started to collect the empty jugs and decanters; it was only several minutes later, when Arthur watched Garanwyn fill the tub with cold water that he noticed that actually, the cleaning wasn't Merlin's job anymore. When the boy was done and had left with still sleep-swollen eyes (he was turning out to be an equally useless squire as Merlin had been a manservant but it wasn't like Arthur wasn't _used_ to that by now), Merlin muttered a half word under his breath and the water started steaming, proving that there was some use to magic that his father hadn't taken into account. “So, what did I miss, did anything happen this night?”

“This _night_? How about four days of court and your oldest acting more than her part?”

“Four days? Merlin, don't be ridiculous!” He saw Merlin stemming his hands on his hips (the effect wasn't the same as when Gwen did it, those hips were way too narrow) to convey exactly what was ridiculous. “Interesting. The stocks, Merlin,” he added when he saw the man mouth 'interesting' and roll his eyes. “You can go now,” he said when his clothes had been placed on the bed. Their eyes met. “Go already, you look like you could use a bath yourself.”

Arthur had shown up for court. The day had consisted of nothing else than that, four days had to be made up for and there was only one person to do it, now, although Isabella had come to Merlin afterwards and told him her father had said she would get her first lessons in state-matters shortly. The smile she wore when she said that was so much like Arthur after his long given up running-target-practise that a cold shiver ran down Merlin's spine. The Princess would never be as mean as Arthur had been back then, but if he wanted to know the kingdom in good hands after him, he should consider making it possible to pass down titles to women, even though the warlock knew that was nothing more than an idea that could never be realised.

He found Arthur on top of the central tower just before the twilight of dusk. The view that was afforded by the height went on for many leagues unobstructed; in times of war a lookout was posted up here to warn of approaching enemies, giving the people of town and castle enough time to prepare for siege, if need be. Right now though, it was usually empty, another reason why Gerait had believed in a ghost at first.

“You didn't explain your absence,” he remarked quietly as he came to stand next to the King who had crossed his arms over his chest.

Arthur threw him a quick look before he proceeded to survey his kingdom again. “I am the King, I do not need to justify my actions.”

“People were getting...concerned.” But his friend just shrugged and they were quiet for a while, until the sun started setting for good.

“I keep wondering where she is,” and there was no question that 'she' was his wife.

“You could send out envoys and let the word out?”

But Arthur just shook his head. “Morgana isn't stupid and she knows her way around. If she doesn't want to be found, she won't be found and her slipping out just like that seems to hint at that. No.” He sighed in a way that he didn't very often and it seemed to seal something inside the man that even Merlin couldn't name.

“So you think she's...that she won't be back?” He hadn't told Arthur about what Isabella had said, what _Rhain_ had said, he didn't want to upset him and also what was the point? But it was important what Arthur himself thought of the situation now that he was sober and had likely thought about it for a while.

“Indeed,” the King looked at him and an actual smile played around the corners of his mouth that quickly turned into a huge grin. “So do you want to be Queen in Camelot now?” And Merlin really, _really_ hoped that the dark look he shot his lord was conveying where exactly he could stick that idea and what his warlock thought of it. Arthur laughed and led him towards the stairs with an arm around his shoulder and Merlin thought that at least this time his breath didn't smell like a wine barrel, then almost pushed him down the stairs as they were walking down from the central tower.

~*~

The answer to the message arrived the same way the original one had been sent, carried on the wind and protected from birds of prey by magic. Merlin handed him the scroll silently and Arthur broke the seal; unmistakeably King Cendred's own, as was the handwriting. “He hasn't seen either Morgana or Gwen,” at least Gwen had had the decency to leave a message when she left even if it had only said Morgana needed her. “But if he's well enough for correspondence he certainly isn't dying.” Meaning MacIlvain had lied and this was a mess that he not truly wanted to deal with.

Before either of them could say anything though, Gawain could be heard calling out. “Father!” The door to Merlin's chambers opened and the boy stood there, he had obviously been running all the way from wherever he had come. “Oh, your majesty. I'm...sorry.”

“It's fine, Gawain, come in.” Gawain was a lot like Merlin, although formal education did its parts to at least make him more respectful towards his King than his father was; growing up with two princesses ensured him not looking at royalty with awe though. The magic did its own part to make him special. “What is it? Did you turn one of my girls into an animal again?” It seemed to be one of the children's favourite pastimes but on some occasions, the young warlock didn't manage to turn the girls back again, which was when Merlin had to intervene. At eight, Gawain already knew more about actual spells than his father had, but Arthur wasn't convinced that was for the best; his friend just _did_ most things, often with what seemed a stray thought, while the boy used spells for even lighting a candle.

But now he shook his head. “I can turn them back on my own now,” he declared proudly and the two men grinned at one another. “Riders are coming, and fast. We saw them from the central tower.” The adults sobered, Arthur was out of the door already when he heard Merlin admonish his son about playing on the central tower but he didn't have a mind for that. All knights were accounted for this day and merchants didn't come riding on fast horses, they had carts. He spotted his daughters and growled at them to stay in the castle, ordering the guards to keep the doors closed and not let any of the children outside.

The courtyard was busy this time of day but most were his men rather than civilians and a few commands brought them around from jesting into their armour. He couldn't lower the portcullis or raise the drawbridge but he could be prepared. Mail was on him in mere minutes, sword as always strapped to his hip, the one item without which he felt naked. Merlin hovered in the back and just looked on as a cloud of dust started to gallop over the bridge. Arthur made an effort to look as calm as possible, as two lathered horses reined in in front of him and raised an eyebrow as the figures on their backs practically jumped off to kneel in front of him. He had not quite expected that. Two men, both clad in dark tunics and coats, bows strapped to their backs.

It was only when the man in front looked up that the King recognised him. “Hector de Maris, I would say it is a pleasure to see you but you had us quite nervous here for a while. What is your reason for making such a ruckus?” He made a gesture for the men to relax and for Merlin to step up. Hector was Lord Ban's son, not yet of age but his father had wanted to know him at court for years already, but the son had denied any such wishes so far.

“You majesty,” he bowed his head again. “Me and my servant Weston behind me, we have been riding for many days to reach you here in Camelot. We were sent by my father, on a false hunting trip so no one would be suspicious until we were well away. It is the lords, my King. Lord Clodrus and Lord Doner. They seek to lure his majesty away and then lay siege to Camelot, forcing you to give up your claim on the whole kingdom.”

Merlin caught his friend's eyes and knew they both were thinking about the ruse around King Cendred; he could see Arthur grind his teeth together. “How does your father know of this?”

“I am not at leave to tell this even to the King.” The young man remained calm even when faced with the possible wrath of his sovereign, which was a good sign. Camelot needed men like him.

“Very well,” Arthur answered. “Do you know if they have started towards us already?”

“Yes, your majesty. They plan on you being gone already when they arrive here. I'm happy to have reached you before their ploy could take.”

“It almost did,” the King murmured just loud enough for Merlin to hear and shot him a quick look. “Now Hector, I know you and your servant have exhausted yourselves greatly. You will both be given a room in the guest quarters. Your horses will be taken care of. Merlin, with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hector de Maris in the legend would have been bastard brother to Lancelot. Here he is the legitimate son of Ban.  
> The chapter takes place at two different points of time: The realization that Morgana is gone and two years later MacIlvain (which is originally a buffer used in cytogenetics ;)) comes to court.


	21. Chapter 21

“I have decided to grant your request,” Arthur said a few days later during court to the man who claimed to be from Northumbria. “I already readied my men and have commanded a supply train to be put together, we can ride tomorrow. We have the name of your village and will arrive there within a fortnight, you can ride on and inform your people that help is on the way.” He saw that MacIlvain wanted to protest but didn't dare, just excused himself and made for the stables.

There was no risk involved. Hector de Maris had recognised the alleged clan-chief as one of Lord Clodrus' men the second he had laid eyes on him, there was no mistaking it. He would leave and he would tell his lord that Camelot was empty and ready for the storming; while in truth the King and his men would ride towards the would-be conquerors and surprise them.

Arthur had decided to split into several troupes so they would cover wider ground, even though Merlin had thought that wasn't such a good idea, the warlock still had no sense for tactics, even after all these years. It was also necessary to leave a good portion of the men behind so the castle would be protected and the children would feel safe with their fathers gone to war.

“Hector.” The young man stepped into the hall from where he had waited in the hallway so as not to let the ruse fall through. “It is up to you to decide what you want. You can circumvent the enemy and go back to your father and help fortify your lands, you can remain in Camelot and protect my home and children or you can ride with us. We leave at dawn tomorrow.”

“I would ride with you, my lord, this is my fight as much as yours or my father's. However, I would ask you to allow me to leave my servant within the protection of the castle. He has never seen battle and would likely get himself killed, clumsy as he is.” The King noticed with some amusement the gasp the servant Weston gave at his master's statement and threw an involuntary look to Merlin, who scowled. If Arthur was honest with himself he was glad that the warlock had only observed his first battle from afar, back then it had been so sudden and things had progressed so quick that he, still Crown Prince back then, would not have been able to protect his friend; Merlin might have magic, but even he was vulnerable, that much Arthur knew. And even though there had not been much actual battle practise since then, he trusted Merlin to be able to hold his own by now, at least against mortal enemies.

“That sounds familiar,” Arthur rumbled and just made a dismissive move with his hand. “Very well then. Your servant may stay here with the rest of the royal household. Court is dismissed for preparation. Gather tomorrow at dawn in the courtyard, ready for battle.” Even though they would likely not see any fights for at least a week yet, it was better to be prepared.

~*~

“Father?” Gawain yawned sleepily that evening.

“Yes?” Merlin knew, he shouldn't be distracted but his mind was already at tomorrow's ride rather than with his son, who he wouldn't see for several weeks.

“You and the King. You'll come back, right?” The boy might be young but he certainly knew some of the realities of war, especially since he received the same education as Isabella, despite his younger age. Arthur claimed boys grew up faster that way; yet he still wouldn't put any real steel in either Isabella's nor Gawain's hands, for he said it let children lose the respect for the blade. Merlin rather thought it let them lose respect for life. Either way, he was at a loss about what to tell his son in answer to such a question.

“Of course they will,” the voice of a girl sounded from the door. The older of the two princesses stood there with her arms crossed and now entered the room. He would have said it was like Morgana but her stance, her stride, her tone, it all screamed her father's name, even though her looks were her mother's. “They are the King and the warlock to the court, after all,” she smiled at her foster brother. “Merlin, my father asked for you.”

“And why is her highness the princess still awake?” he inquired on the way to the door.

“Rhain wouldn't sleep.”

Finding Arthur was somewhat difficult but he finally did in the stables. “You were looking for me?”

His friend shot him a look meaning to inquire for his mental health. “No?”

“But...” The girl had tricked him. “Did I ever tell you that your daughter will be hard to match when it's time for her to marry?”

The King would have laughed but the horses needed rest so he settled for a grin. “She'll do all right, Merlin, stop thinking about something that won't be a matter of concern for several years. You should concentrate on what's to come.” They left the stables and headed back to the castle. It was a clear night, the moon waxing but the torches giving plenty of light. The night before an army's departure always was busy and no one would find a lot of sleep, despite the orders given.

“I am, my lord, I am. I'm not sure it's a good idea to go to war with your own nobles, if I'm to be honest.” It was not the first time he'd said it these last few days. Some of the knights even agreed with him, but they didn't have an alternative, both Lord Clodrus and Lord Doner would have to be taught a lesson, one that would reach the other rebellious men, too.

It took a long moment but eventually, Arthur shot a look at him before climbing the stairs to his chambers. “And have you found a solution to that problem of yours?” He rested a heavy hand on Merlin's shoulder when the warlock shook his head and went to look for his bed without a further word.

~*~

“Merlin. Merlin,” the voice calling him was familiar, it was one he hadn't heard in years. The warlock turned around and found Morgana smiling at him. She stood on a field, small hills in the distance, blue sky above and just smiled in a way that made his heart light and lifted his mood.

“Morgana. What?” He stepped towards her and she only started to evade him when he reached out a hand to touch her, to reassure himself he really was seeing her.

Her smile turned a little sad and she shook her head. “This is a dream, Merlin. And I do not have enough of a hold on it to risk your powers shattering it.”

“So this is real?” He didn't know what she meant, couldn't fathom what his powers had to do with his dreams.

“No Merlin, this is a dream. Walk with me?” Not waiting for an answer, she just started walking, but not really. It was like her feet didn't reach the ground, like she was just gliding over the grass without ever touching it. “Do you know this place?” When he shook his head she nodded in the direction they were walking away from. “There is a lake shore over there. It is the place were I saw Arthur dead.”

“What do you mean?” His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Arthur, dead? That could not be.

“Not for a long time. I was old already. And now, I hope it won't come to pass, I did what I had to so it never would. This field will still see blood and death but it can not be Arthur's.” A brief image flashed in his mind's eye, of Morgana's face deeply lined in age and grief.

Merlin looked around but there was nothing to indicate his exact location and there was no sign of battle yet, either. Just green grass and rolling hills in the distance. “Why...why me?”

“Because I realised it is not only upon me anymore. Many things will happen between now and then, and you have promised me before to keep my husband safe. I need to you keep that promise, no matter what.” She had stopped walking, now she just smiled at him again.

Closing his eyes, he could just shake his head. “Morgana, I would never... I do not retract my promises. Rather than... Do you not want to know about your children? They-”

“I know everything about my children,” she reached out a hand. “Remember your promise and fulfil your destiny, Emrys.” When her fingertips touched his cheek, her image began to fade and she and the field they had been standing on were gone before he could say any more.

~*~

Merlin started awake and found his friend's blue eyes looking down on him. “Didn't I tell you not to stare at me when I'm asleep back when-”

“Merlin,” Arthur warned and his eyes turned sharp as daggers.

“...after the incident we don't speak about?” he finished with a sigh and sat up. Waking up in the command tent was still somewhat disorienting, even after almost a decade of this being in place; his insistence of _always_ guarding the King having led to it. “Why are you awake?”

“I never sleep in the eve before battle, you should know that by now,” the other man answered and pulled his weapons' belt over.

The warlock frowned. “We've been on the way for over a week and nothing happened. How do you know we'll see battle tomorrow?”

“I can feel it in my bones,” Arthur threw him a long look. “I'm a warrior, Merlin. I know these things. Why the sudden wake up?” Grabbing for a pouch, he settled on a nearby stool and went about whetting his sword. It was a sort of ritual, the King would always do that when he expected to participate in a battle himself. The armour could be excellently taken care of, the weapons could have been sharpened just an hour before, Arthur would always sit about and whet his sword. Once, he had claimed it was what every warrior should do, but Merlin suspected that it had to do something with nerves, although he would never say that much out loud.

Now he regarded his friend for a moment listening to the stone making the characteristic noise when dragged over the steel. “I dreamed of Morgana.”

The noise stuttered for a fraction of a second but then resumed as if nothing had happened. “You did?” The man fell silent for almost a minute. “What about?

“I'm not actually all that sure. I think what she tried to say was that she left to protect you.” He frowned. Yes, that was what it would come down to, wouldn't it?

“What do you mean?” Arthur didn't look at him. It was almost as if he refused to and at the same time he seemed just perfectly occupied. Merlin would have bought it if he didn't know that the man could whet a sword with his eyes closed and his hands bound, if he had to.

“I don't know. Not exactly.” His tone must have given something away though, for Arthur did look at him then, just a quick glance with one eyebrow quirked just so.

“Merlin, what are you not telling me?”

Feigning innocence hadn't worked for almost as long as his friend had been King but the warlock still tried, blinked. “What? Nothing!”

The quirked eyebrow was more prominent now and Arthur actually put his handiwork away for a moment. “I told you before, you're almost as crap at keeping something to yourself that you actually _want_ to tell me as you were as a manservant. Now, out with it.” Bringing the weapon up, he simply continued what he had interrupted previously.

“I don't think this is the right time and place to-”

“Merlin,” Arthur warned without looking at him again.

The warlock sighed. “I think. I'm not sure at all, mind you. Bit I think Morgana might have a bit of a gift of second sight.” It had just fallen into place for him, that maybe Rhain had inherited that ability; there were so many hints to that... But he wouldn't tell that to Arthur. If it was meant to, her father would learn that soon enough.

“You mean. Seeing the future,” he didn't look at Merlin, but his movements were getting just the slightest fraction more rigid.

“Maybe?” he shrugged. “But even if she cannot, I at least think _she_ believes it. And if she...if she saw you dead and thinks she might prevent it.” That's how I would act, he thought to himself. Once he had almost given his life to save Arthur and there was no question in his mind that he would do it again, should the situation demand it.

“Is that what she said?” the King asked and something like an edge had come into his voice.

“Kind of.”

“...and she sends dreams, too?”

Merlin looked up and balled one fist, the mocking tone mixed with what seemed utter insignificance was so infuriating. “Well, sire, I don't _know_! _I_ am no seer!” He knew they were too loud, they threatened to wake up the whole camp way before it was time to prepare to go about the day, and if they would really face battle this day, the men would need all the sleep they could get.

But suddenly, the sword Arthur had been whetting was pointing at his throat. Not wavering even the slightest bit, the weapon was held steady in a straight line with the man's arm. Merlin could feel his eyes going wide, aghast with what he was experiencing. There had only been one other time when his friend had pointed a sword at him seriously and back then... “You,” he swallowed; thought he could feel the point of the blade scraping along his Adam’s apple when he did. “You wouldn't.”

“No?” Arthur rested the edge of the blade against his throat then, knowing exactly how little pressure he could apply without actually cutting. This wasn't the flat of the blade and the warlock could see that Arthur knew this, despite the menacing gleam his eyes held all of a sudden. “Are you sure? Your life is in my hands, warlock. Don't you ever forget that.”

Merlin forced his breath to remain calm, forced his heart not to race as well as he could. He was walking on thin ice now, there was something in his friend that was close to breaking, it was almost palpable to him; or maybe it was close to breaking through the surface. “When you made me your advisor you said you needed to hear what I think and not what you want to hear. So no. You wouldn't.” They looked at each other for what felt like eternity, not tried to stare each other down but actually looked. Merlin knew, he wouldn't have been able to avert his gaze even if he tried; too much was going on behind his friend's eyes that remained unspoken, that neither of them would have ever been able to give voice to. After a long time, and very very slowly the dangerous glint in Arthur's eyes dimmed, although it did not vanish completely.

The sword was removed and Merlin broke eye contact by closing his lids and breathing out quietly. When he opened them again he found the other man pacing. “Back then I didn't know an eternally young version of yourself would keep saying things that don't make any sense at all!”

He blinked. “Arthur, whatever are you talking about?”

The King turned around surly. “Morgana? What else?”

“No, no, what's this eternally young nonsense?”

And for the first time since he'd met him as a bullying prince, Merlin saw Arthur roll his eyes. “Merlin have looked into a mirror recently?”

“No, have you?”

“I'm not the issue here,” Arthur replied with an annoyed movement of his hand. “You are looking not a year older than you did the day you walked into Camelot and became the worst manservant in the history of royal courts...what? Fifteen years ago?” Merlin suddenly remembered a night several years ago, when a very drunk Arthur had accused him of the same thing before and how he had dismissed it as ravings of wine back then.

“I don't,” he was at a loss. “I didn't-”

“No, of course you didn't,” Arthur interrupted him, voice gone quiet, drew the tent flap back and stepped out into the night without so much as a look.

~*~

Arthur drew up so he was back to back with Merlin and quickly looked his friend over from the corner of his eyes. The man didn't seem any worse for wear, which was good. “You okay?” he asked quietly, waiting for the enemy force to press forward again. They'd been off the horses for a considerable time already, this had turned out to be messy. He didn't think these were all Clodrus and Doner's men, they must have hired mercenaries.

“Mostly,” Merlin answered. “Few cuts and bruises. Lost sight of you for a moment-”

“I'm fine,” Arthur lied. He had a broken rib, maybe two, that were grating against one another in his chest and starting to impair his movements but those would heal, given time and were no reason to put any additional ballast onto the warlock's shoulders. It felt wrong to have Merlin in the middle of this, even more so after the exchange of the previous night, but the man insisted on staying close. Arthur had had to force himself not to panic when he had vanished from his field of view half an hour past but there was nothing he could do.

A giant of a man was charging towards him and he could only push Merlin out of the way before catching the man's sword with his own and putting his weight behind it. Managing some room to navigate was hard but he succeeded eventually, dispatched him with a well aimed stab towards a hole in his armour. “Arthur!” He turned around just in time to see a ball of fire burn an arrow aimed for him from its path, that undoubtedly would have made it through his mail. Cursing, he wiped his face and came away with soot. “Would you rather be alive or have eyebrows?” Merlin asked sarcastically as he was catching up again. This was neither the time for jokes nor for jibes so he kept that to himself to look for his next opponent.

Clodrus and Doner were still ahorse, at the side of the battlefield, not caring to pick up their own weapons. They had been surprised enough to suddenly face a small army of knights with the King in the middle but had quickly managed to reorganise their men and now it was exactly what Arthur had wanted to prevent. He just hoped Kay and the second troupe would come to their aid quickly, taking the force from behind.

Breathing was getting harder, the broken ribs making fighting torture rather than display of skill and if he had had the breath for it, Arthur would have cursed Merlin for all his talk of death last night. The warlock was projecting his fears from himself to someone else, Morgana in this case; it had been the same throughout all of known history, leaders attributing their victories to their dreams the night before battle. Or in this case, the possible failure. He had thought about it after leaving his friend last night. Even if he entertained the possibility of Morgana being able to see the future, why had she not come to him but instead chosen to leave her home, her children, behind? What a difference could she make if he was destined to die in battle?

Merlin suddenly tugged at his wrist and shouted a few short words that Arthur couldn't recognise, then four men who were all charging at the at the same time were pierced through by weapons that had risen out of their own accord from fallen enemies. He didn't look at the warlock and just nodded his thanks, air wheezing in and out of his lungs. There was no telling how many men he and his friend had killed between them this day alone; Arthur had lost count on how many men's blood stained Merlin's hands because of him.

New shouts from somewhere beyond the curtain of pain caused by his ribs, his various cuts and bruises and the deep gash in the hollow of his knee, were drawing his attention and he saw the two lords who were the cause of all this being unhorsed by men clad in the bright red cloaks of Camelot. Kay and the second part of the knights had arrived, supplying fresh strength to their weary forces. “Go!” the King shouted, ignoring the pain breathing caused him. “Full out now!”

Some of the men they had been battling saw the tides turn and fled, most likely the mercenary forces the nobles had brought with them, no seeing sense in getting killed over a dispute that wasn't their own. The faces of the remaining enemy forces were grim and Arthur just hoped that his knights were aware of the danger. These men had nothing left to lose now and men who had nothing left to lose were the most dangerous of all.

It was nothing short of luck that he saw the knife being hurled towards him and he could bring up his arm in time to shield his eyes, making it deflect harmlessly, although denting his plates. What he didn't see was the sword being thrust towards his middle and he would have been dead despite his mail if someone hadn't caught the blade with his own. A surprised look let him see Hector de Maris, grinning fiercely in his blood-speckled new cloak; he had adopted the colours of Camelot after he had been knighted two days past upon coming of age. “Your majesty,” he ducked his head and ran the enemy soldier through with a well-aimed thrust of his weapon.

Sir Kay rode up beside him a moment later. “How are you holding up here?”

Arthur looked up. “Well enough. About time you came, though.” He coughed and spat and knew the exact moment that Merlin noticed the blood, for a hand clamped painfully around his wrist, which he shook off with one hasty movement. There was no time for the warlock to be concerned, there was no time for nursing wounds, there was no time for anything but winning this battle at all costs.

The knight regarded him with a measuring look but knew better than to say anything. “Some petty duke didn't want to let us pass through his territory.”

“Despite the heraldics?” the King raised an eyebrow and the other man snorted.

“I have a feeling it is _because_ of the heraldics, sire. We have him imprisoned in his own dungeon, you can deal with him later. It would have taken us quite a bit longer to get past his men-at-arms if the servant of the new kid hadn't showed up.”

“Weston?” Merlin inquired from the side with a tone of disbelief. They were in a pocket of relative quiet right then, there was still the clanking of weapons all around them but Kay had led a small part of his force into the middle and now they were surrounded by friends. That didn't mean they got to be distracted much but Merlin's ability to shield provided a relative safety for the exchange of some quick information. “Wasn't he ordered to stay back in Camelot?”

“Looks like I'm not the only one to ever be punished with a disobedient manservant,” the King remarked with a half-smile and turned back to his knight. “We'll deal with that later. Anything else?”

“No, your majesty, no other issues for the moment. Although, just between us, you should get that stab wound looked after,” he nodded at his lord's blood-soaked clothing.

Arthur gave the charger a clap to the rump. “I will. Later. Off with you, then.” Taking his sword up again and trying one deep breath he walked past the ring of knights, feeling Merlin's eyes on him from behind but didn't care. He was a warrior, after all, it did not serve his men if he didn't risk the same fate they did, it would only make them bitter.

~*~

“Can't you go fuss over someone else for a change?” Arthur complained and Merlin could have kicked him, if the man hadn't been injured already; of course, in that case, there would have been no complaint in the first place. Probably.

So he just sighed. “You're the King. It is your job to have people make a fuss over you. And it's mine to make sure you're all right. Now, would you please just stop trying to discuss what I should and shouldn't do and let me work? Aren't you in pain?” The man's weapon's belt already lay to the side and Merlin was trying to figure out how to get his lord out of his dented plates when the flap was drawn back and Sir Kay entered the command tent.

“Kay, get him away from me, there are things I have to do!” the King called towards his knight while trying to ineffectually shove Merlin away.

The other man blinked. “You have seriously lost your mind if you think I'm going to start messing with the warlock, my lord. And what do you want to do? Watch as we root out the last men in hiding?” Most of the men who hadn't fled at the arrival of the second part of the army had died in the battle, the rest were being held prisoner but would likely not live to see the next week. Putting men to the sword was not an act of chivalry, but Merlin understood the reasons, any noble following after the two fallen lords would not be able to trust those men, would probably be cruel to them and their families. With their deaths, kin liability was wiped clean. “I only came by to check that you hadn't bled out by now, but I guess my worry was groundless.”

Arthur was still trying to shove him away when the King accidentally knocked into a high-backed chair and gasped in pain. “Knew it,” Merlin murmured and held onto his friend tightly and waited for the wave to pass. “Sir Kay, I can't go on treating his majesty if I don't get the plates off of him. Any idea?” While the warlock had probably the most practise of them all of getting Arthur in and out of his mail and clothing, he had never seen the plates quite this dented and the man inside still mostly alive; he had no idea how to get the arm and neck protection off.

The knight turned around to face him. “Well, normally I would say call the smith and have him hammered out but can't you just,” and he made the same gesture that Arthur used to indicate 'just magick it or something'.

Sighing, he just shook his head. “I don't... I'll think of something.”

“I'm sure you will,” Kay said and turned around to go, not answering his sovereign's muttered “And don't I get a say in this?” which was probably for the better.

When they were alone again, Merlin considered the armour once more. “How many ribs are broken, do you think?”

Arthur looked at him and carefully sat down on his cot. “Isn't knowing that your job, too? Two, I guess.” His friend nodded absently and probed along where the plates were dented together. He murmured something that sounded harsh and cruel to Arthur's ears and the metal of the plates snapped right through. His eyes went big. “Next time, do that on the field! The enemy will be so confused they'll forget to fight!”

Merlin sighed. “You're not yet whole again and think about your next war already. What is it with warriors?” He discarded the plates; they would have to be taken to be mended or a new set would have to be made, that was for the smith to decide. After making Arthur get up, he stepped close, lifted the hem of the mail and snaked a probing hand beneath it.

“What do you think you're doing there?” the King frowned at him from above.

The warlock only threw a very short glance up. “Trying not to hurt you when I take the rest off. Two ribs right, one left. Try not to move too much now, arms up carefully.” The man's left arm looked funny in a very non-comical way and when the chainmail had lifted away magically (doing it by hand would have been extremely painful) and the gambeson was gone as well, Merlin looked at his lord's form a bit closer. “I think your collar bone is broken, too. You'll have the arm in a sling for a while...and you need to get back home without too much jostling. Shug the pants.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur quirked an eyebrow at him which belied his pain.

“Your leg is still oozing blood and I'd like to have a look at that. The breeches need to go.” Merlin explained patiently and angled for a caraffe of wine to wash the wound with. At least for once, the King obediently followed his commands and also lay down close to the fire, the main source of light in the tent with the daylight gone. The knee and calf were not a pretty sight. Arthur would have a second scar to match the one on the other side and the knee had been bled into, making the skin a shade of blue that every dyer would have been envious of. Miraculously though, the joint itself seemed to be undamaged, which was a relief.

The King discarded the piece of leather without even looking at it but Merlin still let it rest where it was, they would definitely need it later when he went about righting the collar bone. There was some hissing from Arthur when he washed the wound but that was about all. “Do you really think Morgana...?” the man asked then after a few moments.

“I don't know,” the warlock answered as calmly as he could but felt his friend's eyes on him when his head was turned. He looked back for only a second but that was enough to make him falter. “I really don't.” He paused in his procedure. “But there is some evidence towards it, at least.”

“Like what?” Arthur was staring at the felt wall again and probably the better for it.

“You remember her nightmares?” The other man nodded. “I know of a few of them that came true. And...did you ever tell her the little druid boy's name was Mordred?”

“No, why should I?” And he would have shrugged if he hadn't been busy keeping his rips off the cot to not make them jar him any further. When Merlin was quiet for a while, he looked back again. “Tell me.”

“When Isabella was born... And you were...you know, out cold. Morgana was yelling your name. And Mordred's. And I think she saw something then that scared her a lot. I don't think she remembered any of it afterwards, though. Until later. My mother said there was none of that at Rhain's birth, that she was very quiet. I don't know, Arthur it... It makes too much sense,” he finished lamely and set the first stitch to the hollow of the knee, numbing the edges of the wound slightly beforehand. “I don't know why she thought she could do anything about it. But.” He gave a shrug before he remembered that the other man couldn't see.

“She must have been scared,” Arthur said and shook his head.

“If she really saw you dead, that is scary, Arthur.” And it was. He knew, Arthur was a warrior, many of whom died in battle, a death that seemed more pointless than anything and often in excruciating pain. He didn't want to think about it but it were days like this one that reminded him of that. If he hadn't burned the arrow...

“Everything dies, Merlin. That's how it is. And to tell you the truth, I'd rather die in battle protecting what is important to me than of wasting disease and too frail to climb a horse anymore.” That was typical for Arthur. Merlin didn't answer because there was nothing he could say; however he swore to himself again that whatever he could do to keep the King alive, he would.

The ride home proved to be slow and painful for Arthur, his ribs and broken collar bone were making riding and mounting a pain, dismounting was almost impossible without the help of at least two people and he didn't like it. However, Merlin had insisted they couldn't stay in the field for the weeks it would take for the bones to mend and so they took two weeks to reach Camelot again instead of just one. Most of the camp was in a good mood, they had gotten to fight again after a while and they had beaten the enemy with only minimal losses of their own. There was much to deal with, not the least of which were the lands Clodrus and Doner had left unoccupied, although Lord Ban was quickly decided on as a temporary replacement that would not last for long. Uther had always said to give one of your nobles too much land and too much influence was asking for open rivalry sometime later.

Arthur hadn't spoken to Merlin much after being sewn up again. He was busy enough with the matters at hand and the warlock seemed to have taken to looking after some of the more severely injured knights who had to be transported in the wagons of the supply train. Consequently, they only met in the mornings and evenings when retiring for the night and checking the bones and it did wear a little on the King. This wasn't new exactly, there had always been times when they hadn't talked much but there was still something hanging in the air between them, something that went unspoken for all the way back to Camelot and beyond.


	22. Chapter 22

The noise of weapons clanking carried over to them where they were leaning against the fence of the training area, where Isabella and Gawain were practising their swordplay. The tips of the steel was blunted, that didn't mean they got to work with it without supervision; a task that normally was taken over by one of the older knights, but today Arthur had decided to do it himself. The men were anxious to get some exercise after several days of storm and wet ground; this was the first day in two weeks that was dry enough to train or even walk around the courtyard without sinking ankle deep into mud.

Merlin yawned and rolled his head around, working out the kinks in the back of his neck. He could see Arthur throwing glances at him from the corner of his eye occasionally. The first storm of the autumn had culminated around the Equinox, a date the warlock hadn't paid attention to for most of his life but he had found out that it was beneficial to know when days were getting shorter or longer again, especially since he served an adventure-hungry King. This year however, his bones had ached so badly for no reason whatsoever that he feared he might never move again. There had been a crackling of magic in the air, carried into the castle by the wind, and then suddenly it was gone, the magic as well as his aches. Arthur didn't know yet, there hadn't been a right time to tell him. “Did I tell you I found out what 'Dinas Emrys' means?”

“No?” a surprised look was shot his way, then the King's eyes were back on the children. Isabella looked even more like her mother at thirteen than she had before; a beautiful princess with much of her father's character and mindset. The only time she could ever be seen wearing dresses was at court and during official functions; showing clearly that she knew her place when it came to matters of state, but also making clear, with her breeches and shirts, that there was no messing with her. There had been several requests for her hand during the last few yeas but Arthur hadn't even looked at them seriously, just noted the names to make sure he never even considered those nobles later on. He was determined to wait until she was at least sixteen, also wanting to grant her a word in these matters eventually. Merlin meanwhile had taken Gawain aside a while ago and made clear to him what the King would do to the boy if one of the princesses turned up pregnant.

“The texts give its name as 'Fortress of Ambrosius', in Latin, whatever that means,” he yawned again.

“Ambrosius is an old Roman cognomen.” And Arthur would know, wouldn't he? What with him being the descendant of...which Emperor again? Merlin always forgot.

“So what's the druids' point?” he asked instead but his friend only shrugged in an 'who knows' gesture. Geoffrey of Monmouth the younger walked by with his nose buried in a scroll, which was his usual stance and Merlin was convinced the young man would squint rather sooner than later. His uncle, the old Geoffrey, had died the same year as Hunith, and it was a time that the warlock didn't remember fondly. The year they had been spending travelling to and from Brittany. “You should give that hill to Gawain, when he's of age.”

Arthur smirked. “Why, you want him gone from all the intrigues at court? Or from my daughter's influence?”

“There's worse fates than growing up with you in girl-version, I suppose.” Arthur barked a laugh at the old joke between them. “No, I just think he should have land to go with the title. And I mean, I certainly am never going to use it.”

The King's gaze got serious. “Does he know?” but his friend only shook his head. “What do you tell him when he asks?”

Merlin shrugged. “What do you tell the girls?”

“They don't ask,” he answered and looked back at the two children, shouted a command of correction so they wouldn't put each other's eyes out.

Meanwhile, Merlin's mind boggled at that. “Never?”

“No. It's like there isn't actually anything missing for them at all. I would attribute it to the quality of the governesses, if I was more naive.” The last sentence had to be taken with a grain of salt, naturally.

“He asked. For a while he didn't realise that something wasn't as it was supposed to be. I mean when he was little, I could still placate him with something. And the girls...,” he didn't want to mention the Queen but he also knew that Arthur would simply know what he meant. They'd been friends for too long to let that go unnoticed. “There were governesses and tutors. And when he was old enough I told him he was with me because of the magic, because I could teach him that. He had never asked who she is, exactly.”

Arthur was still not looking back at him again. “You'll have to tell him someday.”

“I know. I will. Eventually.” For a moment then, it looked as if the King had grown a second head when Rhain climbed onto the fence on the far side of him.

“Father, I have a question,” she said very seriously and with a long drawn-out sigh. Arthur looked at her with a certain amusement and nodded.

“Did you think about the answer first, before coming here?” That was something he was very insistent about. Arthur had made it clear to the children that they were always allowed to come to him and ask questions instead of going to the hired help; but only under the condition that they thought about their question first to try to come up with an answer by themselves. Merlin thought that was a smart thing to do and wondered if Uther had done it the same way of if this was one if Arthur's occasional flashes of genius that weren't battle-related.

Rhain meanwhile was looking at her father with the most indignant look an eight year old could possibly pull off (which was quite serious). “Of course I have! But I could not find an answer no matter how hard I thought.”

Her father smiled at her indulgently. “Good. Then you can ask your question now.”

Nodding earnestly, she seemed to think on how to exactly phrase it. “Right. So, father, how is it everyone else gets lines on their faces and their hair gets a little more grey all the while but not you and Merlin?” Both men stared at her but her eyes were as innocent as possible, no sign of a hidden prank; Arthur slowly turned is head and stared at his friend for a long moment before turning towards his daughter again.

“What do you mean?”

The young girl sighed dramatically as if she had just been told that was an adult-thing she didn't need to know yet. “Well, you are as old as Sir Lucan and Sir Dinadan and only a little younger than Sir Kay, right?” The King nodded slowly, although in truth, both Lucan and Dinadan were each more than a year younger than him. “And all of them have wrinkles all the time already and their hair is...what is the word...streaked? It is a little grey. And Sir Kay is all grey already but you, father, you only have sometimes small lines when you laugh. And Merlin not at all. It is a little odd.”

“Well,” Arthur said and his mind was obviously working in overtime to come up with an explanation that would be sufficient for his daughter but not a lie. Arthur made it a point not to lie to his children if there was a way around it, for one because they seemed to know when he did (to their credit, Arthur _was_ a lousy liar) and he also thought he was a bad role model if he lied. Honesty was a quality people appreciated in a sovereign though, so Merlin had never said anything. “You see, Merlin has all this magic and-”

“Oh!” Rhain exclaimed. “So that is it!” She nodded again. “I understand now. Can I get my sword, too, and you show me those parries again?” Arthur nodded automatically and they watched the girl dash away.

Merlin had been searching his memory during the father-daughter exchange, had dragged memories a decade and more old up to the surface but he couldn't claim the same understanding Rhain did. Arthur looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “Is she right?”

The warlock sighed. “You don't look a day past thirty,” he answered quietly. “I didn't notice, I... Uther looked young for his age, I didn't realise-”

“That seems to happen to you,” Arthur interrupted drily but with a half-smile. Merlin opened his mouth to protest but the King continued before he had a chance to, “Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

Merlin propped his chin up on his folded hands. “I don't think so. Your father didn't look his age.”

“So you said,” the other man interrupted again.

“-and people do remember such things. And really, who sees you up close besides your kids and your knights? Servants don't usually look closely at their masters.” Instead of interrupting this time, Arthur just threw him a look that said 'you never followed your own conventions at the time', which the warlock waved off. “Your men will just see you as the shining young King you once were.” Another look and this time he just shrugged. “And your daughters won't truly care as long as you don't look younger than them, women are quite particular there.”

Arthur bumped shoulders with him then, and Merlin couldn't help but think that his friend had gotten quite a bit older, even if he didn't look it. Not ten years ago, Arthur would have stormed away in anger at this discussion and now he just creased his brow. “How?” But before Merlin had a chance to even think about an answer, Rhain was back in her boiled leathers and her wooden sword in hand just as her sister and foster brother were finishing up their own practise. Arthur threw his warlock a last look and lifted his daughter over the fence before climbing after her.

~*~

Later that afternoon, Merlin was poring over the few documents that still existed on the Old Religion, along with his own compilations, in search of an answer to Arthur's last question. He knew there wasn't one, he knew these papers by heart, yet still... Rhain was right, her father didn't age, had just...stopped at some point and Merlin was wrecking his brain trying to pinpoint when exactly. A suspicion was gnawing at the edges of his awareness already but he was not yet ready to let it fully into his consciousness.

A knock sounded at the door and his son and Isabella entered. “Are you two joined at the _hip_?” he inquired because those two never seemed to go anywhere without the other.

The children, and maybe they should find a new word when they were talking about them because...they were almost too old to be children anymore, looked at each other. “We are sleeping apart!” Isabella finally announced.

All Merlin could do was growl, “You better.” Getting up from his chair he poured himself a cup of water. “Did you want anything in particular or are you just randomly harassing the household?”

“Oh!” Gawain blurted out. “Yes. A boy in a hood arrived a few minutes ago, asking for 'Lord Merlin', we told him you weren't a noble but he still insisted. He's waiting in the courtyard.”

Merlin blinked at them and grabbed his own cloak to follow the two. “And he just talked to you?” Isabella was a princess, despite her occasional appearance of a stable boy, and had to be protected, Gawain knew that, too.

But Isabella was the one to shrug this time. “We were walking by.” The warlock finally ushered them to their rooms, there was no use for them to be around when he met his...visitor. And indeed, there stood a boy in the traditional clothing of the druids in the middle of the courtyard but instead of proud and sure, he just looked lost and forlorn.

  
Merlin sighed and walked up to him. “You were looking for me?”

“Are you the Lord Merlin?” the boy asked and looked up, clutching something to his chest under his coat. He couldn't be more than fourteen, the lost and frightened look on his face made him appear only younger.

“I am not a noble, boy. Just Merlin is fine. What is your name?” The lad couldn't be more than an apprentice, much like Mordred had been so many years ago. If the druids were really out to get at Camelot for some reason or other, they certainly wouldn't send a little boy, or would they?

“My. My name is Gwydion, my lo- sire.” He was shivering despite the rather warm evening and while Merlin led him to the side, he waved to a page, told him to let his majesty know that he would not be joining him for dinner, after all. It was probably best to get some food into the boy and talk to him then. The warlock slowly led him to the kitchens, where he put a steaming bowl of soup in front of him.

“So, Gwydion. Why did you come looking for me? We have never seen any druids in Camelot despite the lift on the ban of magic.” The lad wasn't old enough to remember the time of the ban, had never seen one of his own burnt at a stake or beheaded simply for the fact that he knew how to do magic. Those dark times had been over for more than a decade already.

“Mas...,” Gwydion swallowed and it wasn't soup. “Master Iseldir sent me. He. He said to come find you here, if. And give you-” He broke off there. Merlin frowned and waited for a while until the child seemed to have his emotions back under control.

“Master...Iseldir? Is he one of the druids?” he then asked friendly.

The lad nodded mutely but then clarified, “He was.”

“Was?”

“He's dead, he...died in the storm last week. That's when I... He asked me to come and bring this to you if something happened to him.” Gwydion finally drew his second arm from under his clothing and offered Merlin a package held together by leather strings, tightly packed in waxed cloth. “He said it was important and you were the only one who,” he shrugged.

Merlin frowned again, took the package but didn't unwrap it. “Uhm. Thank you, Gwydion. How old are you, boy?”

“Fifteen, sire,” he looked glumly into his bowl.

“Fifteen, huh? Are you invested with the druids yet, then?” He had no clue about the Old Religion and most of their rituals but he seemed to recall something about initiation taking place considerably early in a young man's life. Or were that the Romans? He truly had trouble keeping that straight sometimes.

Gwydion obviously had trouble holding onto himself. “Sire... I hope... There should... Master Iseldir said there was a letter enclosed for you. There is.. I can't. I cannot explain it very well. Please, sire.”

The warlock frowned again. Something was definitely not right about this, if even he noticed this; as Arthur pointed out Merlin never noticed something easily. He spotted Garanwyn who was supposedly there to pick up his majesty's food; he waved the young man to him and explained to please let his majesty know there would be someone in the guest quarters that night and Merlin would explain more tomorrow. Then he told Gwydion to tell a page to come looking for him if he needed anything and took the wrapped package to his rooms.

_Merlin._

  
Since my young charge delivered the package you're holding, we can be sure that I died of not wholly natural causes a little while ago. You have no reason to be sorry, we have never met in this life; although I did meet your King when he was just a prince and again later, when he had assumed the throne. I am glad, Merlin, that this King is a good man with a good heart. There is much to tell, so much that I do not know where to start.

The package you received together with this letter contains what is left of the old ways. I witnessed the magic purges when I was a young man, I was one of the few of my order to escape death because my Master said there needed to be people left to tell and to keep safe what we could stow away before King Uther's men came. But that was more than a lifetime ago and I do not begrudge it any way today; you probably know the reasons for the old King's actions better than I do. I am having all this delivered to you because you need to be prepared. You and your King both.

The old ways are dead, now. A few months ago, our people started dying. We understood too late what was going on and by the time we did, most everyone had been killed. It was peculiar, the amounts of accidents, we should have paid attention sooner. Soon, only our young were left, most of us elders and our experienced people gone, like it had been back when the purges were at their height. Understand, Merlin, my people are much more than sorcerers. Magic is only a very small part of what defines us; we are healers, we try to live in a way that our Mother might be proud of us. Magic is simply a gift from her to us. But I disgress. It might be that at this point, Lughnasadh has just passed, I am the oldest of a handful of elders left, the rest of us are apprentices, a few young Masters. All of us will probably be dead by the end of the year, and I can just plead with the Mother that Gwydion will live long enough to deliver this letter to you. He is special. He has no powers, no parents, no connections to anyone, which is why he might live. What you are holding in your hands now are the remnants, hopefully enough for you to be able to face what is coming towards you.

The reason for all these deaths is one and all murder. Never in a way that would be obvious, never a knife in someone, never an arrow. The worst is that we are being murdered by our own kind.

Many years ago, I met Arthur Pendragon, for the first time when he delivered one of our young back to us, Mordred, I am sure you remember the boy. Mordred was special to us, for he had powers that had not manifested themselves since the purges more than twenty years earlier and our hopes were high that he might return magic to this kingdom. Our hopes were fed by the fact that we had been given a prophecy, the last gift of one of our seeresses before she was decapitated; a boy would be born who had the capacity to restore what had been taken from us. We thought, when Mordred was brought to us years later, by a girl with large and frightened eyes who said her baby could do magic, that it was him. But Mordred stopped using magic when he was three. We still had hopes and we didn't realise we were setting our hopes on the wrong person until I learned about you. Mordred told us he had met Emrys, for that is the name you bear in the prophecy. We were wary of what the boy said until the day King Arthur lifted the ban on magic.

We knew, then. We didn't know much about you and we have never found out very much. We know your power is vast and your lack of a teacher when you were growing has directed a lot of it inwards, you are able to do things neither of us has ever been able to accomplish. What those things are, I am sure you know yourself. Mordred was less of a mystery to us for most of his life, we did raise him after all.

I do not know where exactly we went wrong but we must have, for suddenly, he changed. He turned malicious, full of hate for everything except himself and his own gain. He once was a sweet boy, clever, willing to learn, to see, to be a part of something but that boy suddenly vanished and was replaced with an adult that I can only describe as evil. If he had not left us, we would have had no choice but to expel him and we do not usually undertake such actions but there was no choice. From the little I know about you, Mordred and you are like night and day. I sometimes think these days, it may have been better if he had not been saved by Prince Arthur, I realise it is a horrible thought for someone who worships life and swore to preserve it, but Mordred. He is killing us, one by one and there is nothing we can do but watch and let it happen. We do not possess an arsenal. We are on this world to worship life, not take it.

But he will not stop with us. For whatever reason, your King, the kingdom he created, Mordred thinks he needs to destroy that, too. I cannot tell you how I know this, or how he will do it, for his magic is not stronger than yours. But he will find a way to try and you and King Arthur, you are the only ones who can possibly stop him. I am not a seer, just an old man but I can feel destiny at work here. There is more than just what is obvious, there is a chance for...something. Keep that in mind, Merlin, and I hope these documents will serve you in finding a way, and if not, then maybe in giving you some insight into what shaped Mordred when he was but a boy.

Iseldir

The shadows under Merlin's eyes and the amount of red in the white when the man finally trudged into the throne hall for court was impressive and Arthur almost sent him to bed; almost because the report he had just received was too important to ignore for long. It seemed like some nobles were growing impatient with their King again; in and by itself that wasn't too worrisome, what made this report of consequence was that this was in former East Anglia again, so this warranted at least a discussion with Merlin...and possibly Isabella. He raised an eyebrow at his friend that was meant to convey several questions at once, but the warlock just shook his head.

The first, and only, petitioner at court that day was a boy who wore the traditional druid garb, which had Arthur sitting quite a bit straighter than he usually did and his daughter on the edge of her seat. She had never seen a druid in her life and her father could see she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting out questions. “My lord,” the boy said and knelt.

“What is your request?” Keeping it all within protocol was probably the best move, or would have been if the boy hadn't looked at Merlin, then, like he didn't actually know why he was there.

“His name is Gwydion,” the warlock said quietly, “he's the guest I had you informed about yesterday.”

“I am asking your permission to stay within Camelot, my lord,” the lad said right then and Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You belong with the druids?”

“I used to, sire.” When the King didn't answer, the boy continued. “I...there is no place I can return to, now. That is why I'm asking...” Obviously lost for words, not willing to repeat himself, he fell silent.

“That is...unfortunate, but why come to me? Don't not misunderstand, I appreciate people actually announcing it,” he glared at Merlin, who had certainly never announced himself to Uther when he had come to stay, “but it is not common practise.”

“I thought he might stay and learn from Eldrik,” Merlin interrupted quietly from behind.

“That-,” he swallowed his initial reply, remembering that he was sitting the throne. “Even so, normally there are no announcements of apprenticeship to the _King_.” If Merlin weren't late all the time maybe he could let the people involved in on his elaborate but mostly useless plans.

“Eldrik doesn't know him, your majesty. Your approval is needed, or even your order,” the warlock said with a patience that was belied by the underlying edge of annoyance in his tone, but Arthur doubted that anyone else heard it. He sighed.

“Gwydion, was it?”

“Yes, my lord,” it was all the boy did not to prostrate himself.

“Gather your things and...Gawain will lead you to our court physician. Gawain, tell Eldrik this lad has my approval and is to have the backroom. Isabella please go to your chambers, your sister asked for you earlier.” The children both nodded and it was nothing short of a blessing that Merlin's son was much more obedient than his father. “Court is dismissed. Merlin, with me.” He didn't think his short temper was covered well but his words but he was the King. Everyone was used to him being mad at Merlin.

“What's this about now?” he shoved his friend into his chambers and blocked the door with his body, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you have any explanation?”

“What do you mean?” Really, Merlin should know better. Should.

“Druids have never come to stay. The truth, Merlin.” They could stand there all day, if necessary.

His friend just shook his head. “He came here yesterday. Asked for me, I guess he knew my name from somewhere. He doesn't have a place to go back to, Arthur.”

“What's with his people?” He had met them, they could be found, and by a fellow druid for sure. But Merlin just shook his head again.

“He has no power, he's an orphan. He knows some about herb lore, I guess, which is why I thought he may be a help for Eldrik.” It didn't slip by the King, that his warlock had not answered his question at all. Something was brewing in Merlin's brain but the man looked dead on his feet. Arthur sighed; secrets were best kept with the warlock, despite seemingly many shortcomings Merlin was still the person he trusted the most at court and with reason, he would come to him eventually, if it was of any meaning at all.

“Fine. Listen to this report I received before you came staggering in horribly late and then you're going to get some sleep. You look horrible. And that's an order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's bad form to have _this many_ characters who start with a G but that's Arthurian lore for you.  
> [Dinas Emrys](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dinas_Emrys) is, indeed, a hillfort in Wales and the translation is correct, too. The story of Vortigern is associated with it, as are the two dragons, as is the Merlin of Legend.


	23. Chapter 23

Sometimes at court or while sharing a last decanter of wine in the evening Merlin looked at his too-young sovereign and friend, body beneath the clothing criss-crossed with scars of wounds Merlin himself had treated for the most part, and wondered what was to become of Arthur. Most Kings died a violent death, doing what they were supposed to do which was defending their kingdom, and the warlock could only guess at what was in store for his friend, especially after Iseldir's warnings in regards to Mordred. Arthur might not age properly anymore but that didn't mean he was invincible or immortal, the marks of Twrch Trwyth's tusks on his belly and chest from last year were proof of that. Arthur had been so ripped open that Merlin thought he would lose him, if not from blood loss then from infection.

Where Arthur's, or even his own, non-ageing was concerned, Merlin still hadn't found an angle that explained it properly; the documents the old druid had sent now existed in a second copy in Merlin's own hand, he knew what was written in them by heart and yet they contained no answer to his questions. The boy Gwydion had been more helpful, probably without even realising it himself. A single reference on a scroll had spelled out the name of the beast Gwyllgi; all Merlin remembered of that night so many years ago was waking up under a crescent moon in what seemed to be a lake of blood, Arthur standing over him staring at his hands. That had been the closest he had ever seen his friend to truly losing it. They had never talked about what had happened; Arthur straight out refused to hear any mention of it at all and that had been that.

When Merlin had asked Gwydion, who had been raised by the druids after all, the lad had just shrugged and said, “Oh, we always called him the black hound of destiny. He hasn't been seen for many years.” Destiny, coming to haunt Merlin again. The boy's answer regarding 'Emrys' or 'Ambrosius' however, had put an idea in his head that hadn't let go of him for over a year now.

~*~

It was almost dark when Isabella and Gawain returned from a day gone from the castle with nothing but horses and small provision packs and a message left with a page that they would be back before nightfall. Arthur, or course, would never have admitted his worry to anyone but even after all her training and even with Gawain there to give some protection with his magic, Isabella was still the Princess Royal and at fourteen more than eligible for anyone to take as her bride. Or for ransom.

He had just summoned Merlin for a location spell when shouts from the courtyard alerted them and there they were, both of them leading their horses by the reins and spattered and smeared with blood all over, faces, clothing, even the legs of the animals. Isabella's animal was foundering and both youths were obviously on the brink of exhaustion.

“What happened?” Arthur demanded to know and only didn't storm and shake both his daughter as well as her foster brother until they answered because Merlin put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Ran into trouble,” Isabella said tiredly and handed her horse to one of the grooms who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere while blowing a dark strand of hair out of her face.

“What her highness means,” Gawain interrupted sarcastically before the King could even open his mouth, “is that we were attacked.”

“Gawain!” the princess admonished but her foster brother just handed his own reins over and stood before her, he was smaller but there obviously was some of Merlin's stubbornness in the boy.

“I don't think lying about this is the right action to take, Isabella. Those were not just some waylaying...thugs out there, you said that yourself! This is your father, he's the King and really, he needs to-,” he exhaled in frustration and turned towards Arthur. “About a morning's ride from here we were attacked by ten rough men with clubs and knives and daggers. We managed to kill most of them, all but two, with swords and,” he looked at his own hand, hesitating. “We couldn't flee, one of the horses had been injured and we couldn't double up for flight. Those other two men fled though-”

“When they saw that one of use was producing balls of flame and burning them to a crisp,” Isabella grinned but Gawain just looked chagrined. Merlin had said the boy's powers weren't as strong as his own, that the lad possessed what he called 'a smattering of magic' but it at least seemed enough to offer some protection, which was about all Arthur would ask for at this point.

“Did you-,” he started asking but his daughter pulled a face at him.

“Please, father, I know how to perform a simple _blooding rite_!” They probably would have continued to glower at one another for a while longer if Merlin hadn't cleared his throat.

“What made you think they weren't simple robbers?”

His son turned to him from his position at the side of the princess. “They were too clean, didn't smell like they'd been on the road for long. Their clothing was patched and mended and it was washed. They didn't have anything on them, we looked. No money, no provisions, nothing. That seems odd.”

“I think you two have heard to many stories,” Arthur waved off but exchanged a worried look with his warlock. The reports he received from his spies at various suspicious courts weren't quite encouraging, there was a spark of discontentment that no one seemed to know where it came from but it was just there. There was nothing to do, though, nothing at all because he couldn't go out and wage war on a hunch. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face. For now, the danger seemed averted but he knew they would have to be more cautious from now on.

“We can show you the bodies tomorrow!” Isabella pouted, just to make a point.

“See that you do,” Arthur retorted but he and Merlin both knew there would be no bodies to be found. But Isabella was fourteen, Rhain only nine, he couldn't confront them with this part of reality just yet, they both deserved a few more years of learning and limited freedom before they had to be adults with responsibilities like a kingdom on their shoulders.

~*~

“He is preposterous,” Merlin heard Isabella murmur as he passed her and Gawain on his way to join the King at the practise grounds. Her long dark hair was pulled back and bound together so it wouldn't get in her way and she was dressed in complete mail, sword hanging at her side; she seemed at ease in her role, much to the contrary of the young man who was standing on the opposite side, facing his sovereign.

“-can't fight a _girl_, sire!” he heard that young man say, almost whine, when he arrived and Arthur nodded at him in greeting. “Much less the Princess Royal! What if I hurt her?” The ranks were littered with knights, all there to witness a claimant of knighthood prove himself in the eyes of his fellow knights and the King, and there was whispering already.

“Are you saying you do not trust me to have my daughter trained enough so she can defend herself? And what if it was me, standing in front of you, would you be afraid to hurt me, too?” Arthur asked then, authority colouring his voice and these were the moments that one recognised all the grooming and breeding that had been devoted to him when he was a boy. It was common practise, anyone who looked to be a knight would come to court and be tested; skills, character, stance. When Arthur had still been a Prince, Uther had delegated these matters to him, probably thinking it would help his son develop the necessary patience with people (not counting that it would make the young man into the arrogant prat that Merlin had met him as) and now Arthur was slowly but certainly leading Isabella towards the responsibility. There was still no way she could actually succeed her father and rule all by herself but Merlin figured it was in the man's interest to know that she _could_, if she found herself in the situation. Arthur would have his own fight with any claimant to knighthood but if they were unable to hold their own against a fifteen year old girl, there was no place for them among the Knights of Camelot.

The young man was clearly in a bind, he couldn't say that he doubted his King, after all. “Sire, she's a fair maid!” Merlin almost choked on his own breath when he heard that and threw a side-glance at the girl in question, who would probably try to strangle the poor boy if she heard him call her that. “What if she suffers from a scar because of this!” The most prominent scar the princess had was on her upper arm that the attack the previous year had left her with, she hadn't even noticed the wound until she had undressed and then she had just come to him and he had set a few stitches and applied a poultice. Arthur had just shook his head with a half-smile; probably knowing that he couldn't prevent a few scars if he raised her in warrior-fashion.

“Now, Custennin!” a man called from the first row of the ranks and Merlin recognised old Sir Cador, the young man's father. So Custennin was his name; he had never made an appearance at court before, having spent his youth in Cornweallas. “Do you really want to have me return home in shame because my son was too much of a coward to fight a little _girl_?” It was said more scoffing than it was meant and the grin on Isabella's face on the other side of the arena shows that she understood that much, Sir Cador _was_ one of her teachers, after all. Custennin seemed to surrender to the pressure and went into stance. Arthur collected Merlin and they climbed into the ranks.

“What's this about a round table I keep hearing about?” the King inquired quietly as he settled into his seat with a sigh.

Merlin threw him a look and would have cuffed him on the arm if they had been alone. “You really need to pay attention about what is said at foreign courts instead of mooning over lost opportunities, you oaf,” he whispered instead.

“Who are you calling an oaf here? And what was said when?” Arthur returned as he watched his daughter laying into the poor boy. There was a lot of energy in her tall and lanky frame, more than one would expect, but after the children had been banned from leaving the confines of castle and village alone after the incident, it was probably understandable.

Merlin sighed. “It came up when we were in Brittany a couple of years ago. While you were getting drunk with King Hywel and pouring you heart out over not having been able to make Lancelot one of your men, _while the man was right there_ I might add, I listened to what the rest of the household had to say. According to them, you're running the most unique court of all Kings ever, with a round table with a place for every knight.”

“And why is it round?” Arthur blinked. There was no table. He was lucky to fit all his men into the dinner hall when they all had gathered from the various places in the kingdom where they were either living or had been sent to for reasons of security and guarding, not even thinking about a single table.

“Because you don't make a difference. In your eyes, everyone is equal, you don't have favourites, you don't treat anyone like refuse or kick them when they're already down. I told you before, people will notice such things. And since they're on the continent and only hear about you very occasionally...,” Merlin explained and trailed off. The same people who made Arthur into the shining hero of a million adventures also had been surprised that Merlin wasn't some old fart in robes woven with silver threads and muttering to himself all the while.

The King threw him a dubious glance and turned his attention back to the practise fight that was happening in front of them. As far as the warlock could tell, Custennin's moves were good, efficient, he knew how to use his strength. They went at each other for another while until Arthur called a halt and jumped onto the sand-covered ground himself while Isabella took the seat he had vacated and looked at Merlin, face damp with sweat and panting.

“I still think he's preposterous,” she stated as she accepted a water bladder from Gawain, who had appeared silently behind them.

“What makes you say that?” Merlin inquired with genuine curiosity. His own experience in fighting were Arthur's relentless lessons when they had been much younger and the participation in the King's various wars and outings to hunt 'beasts' as he called it, although the latter was of purely magical matter.

“He didn't want to fight me!” the Princess Royal burst out and scowled.

“Certainly. But you have more reasons than that, right?” he asked patiently.

She drummed her nails on the armrest. “Of course. But that's the main one. I think he's been cooped up too much in his own home, he acts like he's never _been_ anywhere else, you know? I've seen him ordering around pages, for him they're not people, they're...objects. It annoys me. Now I don't know whose fault it is, but that has to change. And soon. He certainly never has squired for anyone himself, that's clear.” Gawain had taken the water away and now leaned over the back of the chair, resting his chin on his folded hands.

“So what's your verdict?” the younger man asked.

“Father will take him on, I guess. His fighting is okay, he needs some polishing but he's not hopeless. He also is strong, kind of, although he needs to learn he can't win everything with strength; I had ample opportunity to slice him in half at least twice.” She turned and smiled at the man's father. “No offence, Sir Cador.”

“None taken, lass,” the older knight mumbled into his beard and leaned back against a suspension. “I've been telling my wife the boy needs to get some experience since he's old enough to squire but she wouldn't let him go.”

“Your wife scary, Sir?” Gawain wanted to know and smirked while his father had to suppress a laugh. Growing up between Isabella and Rhain had certainly made him unafraid of beatings, that much was sure.

But the man just nodded, grim smile on his face. “Aye, very scary. Guess why I'm only going home at harvest time?” He winked though, saying that.

~*~

“Do you still think him preposterous?” Merlin asked over the rim of his cup.

“I think he's wonderful,” Rhain gushed and made dreamy blue eyes. She had been very taken with the young dark haired, dark eyed man the minute she had first seen him and had practically talked about no one else; much to her sister and her father's dismay. Isabella had still not warmed to him and Arthur was not ready to lose his youngest daughter to one of his men, even though intellectually, that was exactly the match he was aiming for, Merlin knew that his fatherly instincts were not agreeable with that, at least not for Rhain, who was just twelve years old.

“I think he's a git,” the older of the sisters took a long swallow of watered wine from her own cup and held it out to be refilled while accepting a trencher full of food with the other. “Did you see what he did when it was raining so badly the other day? He put his cape over a puddle and asked me to step onto it. Really, Merlin!” There was so much exasperation in her voice that he had to drown his upcoming laughter with wine, threatening to choke in the process. It was just too funny.

“They call that gallantry!” Rhain fumed at her sister's obvious disregard. “If you were less of a boy you would appreciate that, too!”

Isabella looked down at herself, took in her breasts and gown and long tresses of hair and blinked at her sister then, hair still short like a boy's, wearing a much simpler dress and neither Merlin nor Gawain could hold back the chuckles anymore. Arthur pressed his lips together and tried not to join in. Custennin had carried a torch for Isabella almost from the moment she had almost trashed him on the practice grounds, or so Sir Kay had told him when he had come to Arthur, asking him specifically _not_ to lay into the boy for that, saying he had potential and all the works. He hadn't been too enthusiastic about the prospect of one of his men pursuing his daughter in earnest but the King was more than aware of the fact that it was time to approach her about the reality of marriage. He had always made it clear to her that she wouldn't succeed him directly, that she would need to be married to have any power in the kingdom, even if he would make sure she had a husband who accepted her being raised as a ruler.

“Now stop your quarrelling and behave like princesses are supposed to,” he reprimanded softly and surveyed the room. Most of the men had gone home for the harvest, so he only kept a skeletal guard and staff in the barracks, but the annual feast was still splendid as always. There was music and Gawain had taken to entertaining everyone with magic in the last few years; it was the one occasion when there truly was no difference between the classes and everyone but the kitchen staff was dining in the same hall at the same time, probably coming closest to that round table nonsense the people on the continent were jabbering about.

The musicians took up their instruments again and the much-talked-about Sir Custennin came towards them and bowed deep in front of Isabella, while her sister was still grumbling about the appreciation of handsome men, asking her to dance. His oldest daughter not only knew her station but also had a graceful step and Arthur had to admit, the two of them _did_ fit each other nicely. The young knight leaned forward and said something to her quietly, she gave a little laugh and her eyes twinkled at him, almost wickedly.

Merlin caught Arthur's eyes and grinned while Gawain remembered his duties as a good foster brother and asked Rhain to dance with him (unafraid of his toes, the King was most impressed) and Arthur leaned over. “Don't tell me you want to dance, too.”

The warlock gave an undignified snort. “The last time you set me up for dancing we faced unexpected consequences more than a year later, if you remember. So I'll just sit here and watch, if you agree.”

“It's your loss,” Arthur grinned and called for more wine.

~*~

The door to his bedchamber opened without a knock, whoever his late-night visitor was probably thought him asleep already, not reading accounts of his old mentor. “Merlin,” Arthur's voice sounded quietly and he turned around, seeing his friend lift a large jug, probably wine, and nodding upwards. “Talk.” The warlock sighed and followed his lord up to the central tower. The night was warm but not stifling and the wine was passed to him after Arthur took a swallow.

“What is it? Did Sir Custennin finally ask you for Isabella's hand?” Merlin asked as he sat down next to his friend and drank some of the wine himself.

“That'll be the day,” Arthur laughed but sobered quickly. “I'm receiving whispered news, Merlin. I don't know what exactly is going on with my nobles, but it's something is definitely not right.”

“East Anglia?” They still referred to the area by its old name, even though it had been a part of Albion for so long now, a lifetime for some. The sole fact that Arthur still maintained spies at the respective courts of most nobles there was sign enough of how little he trusted those men, there was not a single spy anywhere in what had formally been Mercia. At least not to Merlin's knowledge.

The King nodded. “I can't even much tell you what it is. Exactly. All that is being said is that things are weird, all of a sudden. Secret meetings. People visiting who have never been seen at any court before. Smells that no one can identify. I can't make sense of it.”

“Do you trust your people to be able to spot a difference?” It wasn't that he didn't realise how much the fact that he couldn't make anything of it had to scare Arthur, who was used to have the upper hand at least in his own kingdom. But maybe some inquiry was needed at this point.

The other man snatched the wine again and took another long swallow. “My people aren't stupid, Merlin, you know that. I have to trust them to know the difference and if they say something isn't right then it isn't. And with some of those having caused trouble before.” He paused, drank again. This matter was definitely weighing heavily on his mind. “I sent Sir Hector home for a while.” Leaning his head against the wall, closing his eyes, it was as if he wished he could go back to simpler times, when there wasn't the weight of so many lives resting on his shoulders. But Merlin wondered if there had truly ever been such a time, even before Uther's death. There were times when Arthur looked as lost and lonely as Merlin sometimes felt, isolated with his gift that might as well be a curse.

“I don't like this,” the warlock murmured, looking out over the dark landscape.

“Guess why I brought you up here,” Arthur snorted. “Think we'll be able to stop it, if anything happens?”

Merlin was silent for so long that the King had probably given up on an answer but then he said, “Do you we have a choice?”

“Oh it's not like there aren't options. Death is one. Abdicating another. Both would probably means sentencing every single living soul in Camelot to death, though,” the smile could only be described as sour.

“Death is not an option, Arthur. Not for you. Not when there are countless people who would give their lives for yours,” Merlin declared quietly. It was something he knew. Not the part where there were countless people who would give their lives for their King's, although that was certainly true for the knights. No, the one where death was not a choice for Arthur. He just knew.

“How long did you have that little speech tucked away, then?” the man looked at him quizzically and with eyes squinting in half-amusement.

Merlin shrugged. “I've been serving you in one way or another for over half my life. Let's say I can make educated guesses.”

“Whenever I think I have you well and truly figured out you say something that makes entirely no sense,” Arthur sighed and took another swallow from the jug, eyes wandering over the dark distance that his gaze couldn't even start to penetrate.

  
Merlin smiled. “Well at least you won't ever be bored with me around.”

~*~

Merlin came in and found Arthur and Isabella standing in mirroring poses with their arms crossed over their chests and had to blink. “I'll...come back later,” he announced and wanted to turn on his heel when the King's King-voice held him back.

“Merlin.”

The warlock swallowed. “I hate it when you say that.”

“It's your name,” Arthur stated matter of fact, eyes still on his daughter.

“But when you say it like that it's as if you'll order my execution any second,” he knew he was whining but really!

“Now,” the King admonished, “since I haven't strangled you myself until now it's unlikely I will order someone to.”

Merlin sighed and surrendered to his lord's mood. “And what seems to be...the matter here?”

“My daughter here asked me for betrothal to Sir Custennin,” Arthur said with narrowed eyes, still in the direction of his oldest child, who had not shifted her position even a little.

Merlin sighed again and already expected a long night ahead of him. “Isabella, leave us.”

“But-” She quipped up but didn't get a chance to finish her sentence.

With all the force and authority that Merlin had gathered in all his years serving the King he turned to the princess and said with an only very ill-disguised flare of temper, “I said leave us alone, now!” The girl just stared at him for a second, shocked at his sudden outburst it seemed, then left the room without a further word.

When he faced the King again, the man's jaw had dropped open and he obviously did his best to close it again. “That was...unexpected.”

“I saw you roar at enough servants over the years, me included, to get the gist, Arthur,” he let himself fall into a chair and rubbed his forehead. “Let me tell you I don't feel like an advisor when I have to hold you back from murdering your children,” he added tiredly.

“Well I did ask you if you want to be Queen,” Arthur answered with a grin and shoved a bowl of fruits towards him when he received a murderous glare from his friend.

“So what's your plan, then?” Merlin switched the topic to what he had walked in on.

The King blew out a breath. “Lock her into her chambers until she's thirty?”

“Arthur...”

He growled. “Don't think I'll make it easy for her.”

~*~

A hand touched his shoulder and Merlin jerked awake, at the table where he had fallen asleep while leafing through a tome from the archives. Gawain was beside him, smiling fondly, and lit another candle before putting the stump out.

“Trying to burn down the castle?” he asked quietly and sat on another chair. His father rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and regarded him silently. The boy had turned into a young man that didn't look much like Merlin himself but resembled his dead uncle Owain more than just a little, especially when he smiled.

“Would have drowned itself before the table could have caught,” he yawned and sat up to work the kinks out of his back. “Where's Isabella?”

“Asleep, I hope,” he sighed. “We do go places alone, you know? Especially since that...oaf started courting her.”

“Git,” Merlin corrected with a lopsided grin.

“Whatever,” his son frowned and started toying with a loose thread of his tunic.

The warlock propped his chin up in one hand and his smile turned softer. “If I didn't know better I would say you're jealous.”

“Of Sir Custennin, he with the wispy chest hair and crooked eyetooth and the twinkling doe eyes? Nah.”

“Twinkling doe eyes?” Merlin echoed, blinking. “If you are that way inclined-”

“Father!”

“Well-”

“Enough. It's girl-speak. You should hear Rhain gushing, I don't think that's healthy, being that fascinated with your sister's...whatever.” He clearly shied away from the word 'paramour'. “She'll get over it. I came here to tell you something and I think it would make the girls upset. So I waited.” He sighed. “Do you have anything to drink?”

Merlin pointed towards a decanter on the smaller table behind him and watched as Gawain poured them both a cup. The boy had as much a taste for wine as anyone but Merlin knew he was just buying time. But he wouldn't rush him, if there was truly something that would upset his foster sisters it had to be serious.

The younger man sat back down. “People are starting to notice,” he said and wouldn't look at his father.

“Notice what?”

“That the King isn't growing any older,” he sighed and drank the cup down in one large swallow. “They're not saying anything out loud yet, but there's whispering.”

Merlin's mouth had dried up when he heard that and he tried to wet his parched throat with wine before speaking. “And you know this, how?”

“Look, I just... I happen to be in the hay loft when the grooms talk. Or passing a room where maids are working. I hear things. I don't...I don't force this, father. It's just.” He raked his hands through his dark hair. “I just do.”

“Okay, okay. Breathe, Gawain. What about me?” His son blinked at him with lack of any comprehension. “Are they not saying anything about me?”

“You're different, father,” relief coloured the lad's voice, he probably had suspected a whole other meaning behind the question and Merlin wondered at that. “People don't expect you to look your age. King Arthur however...is a different matter. They don't know what to make of it. The kitchens say it's a curse, your doing, the grooms say it's a reward for his benevolent regency, some say he made a pact with the dark side of magic, they're not talking of you but of..._something_ else.” He looked at Merlin with determination. “All I know is, it can't really stay the way it is for very much longer.”

The warlock narrowed his eyes. “You know I can't do magic on Arthur unless there is no other choice.” It was a pledge between them.

“I'm not saying you have to do magic on him. Then again, is there another choice, truly? I don't know. I just thought I should let you know.” Gawain got up. “And put the candles out before you go to sleep this time.”

“Sure,” his father replied automatically while the younger man went to the door.

“Oh and father?” He didn't turn around, spoke to the wood instead.

“Yes?”

“You can trust us. Both of you. We'll do right by you.” And then he was gone and Merlin seriously wondered what was going on in the mind of the young ones these days.

~*~

The boy Gwydion had matured into a strong young man who usually made short work of Eldrik's patients, holding them down when procedures were too painful for them to remain still and that was probably for the best as he carried Rhain into Merlin's chambers, asleep in his arms, his shirt wet. “Found her in a recess, crying so bitterly as if someone was dead. I didn't know what to do...”

The warlock had been up in a flash from his writing table and looked the young princess over. “Cried herself to sleep?” The other man nodded and shifted his grip. “Put her on my bed for the time being and then tell me again. Did she say anything?”

Gwydion shook his head. “Gibberish. Poisoned heads, that it was dark, that father should be careful, that there was the lake. Nothing I could make sense of.” He threw a long look at the still form on the sheets. “Is she Seeing?”

Merlin paused for a moment and glanced at the other man, then shrugged. “I don't know. I've had moments thinking she might be but never anything definite. What gave you the idea?”

A long sigh and an even longer silence followed. “You know I am devoid of powers but I truly wish I could help her or tell you of someone who could. But with everyone gone...,” his voice had grown rough. “I just think no one should suffer like that.”

“What do you know of...their deaths?” Merlin inquired, half because he was curious, half because the boy might know something...without being aware of it at all.

Shaking his head, the young man went to stand next to the window. “Not much. It's anathema, Merlin, talking about The Night Who Has A Name, I just know what we children were being scared into obedience with and...you know how much of those are true, usually.”

“The Night Who Has A Name?” the warlock echoed.

“Mordred,” Gwydion spat. “When we were children, the elders described him as everything that a druid was not to be, the darkness that swallowed the light. For us he was a legend, although we knew he had been real not that long ago. When Master Iseldir figured out why everyone had started dying...it was too late. Or so I think, he never spoke to me about it, just gave me those papers and the rest...you were pretty much witness to the rest.”

“You're convinced Mordred was the one who-”

“I _know_ he was,” he turned around, eyes flashing fiercely. “Mordred is the bane of these isles and if there was any way that I could kill him, make him perish, I would, no matter the cost, even if it was my life.” Rhain started to stir and Gwydion lowered his voice. “But I can't. I will have to complete my life without the satisfaction of revenge. That doesn't mean I will stop seeking it. And if you had ever come upon the Night Who Has A Name, you would, too.” He left, then, agitated to the point of anger. Merlin was left and as he watched Rhain slowly wake up, it was the word darkness that stayed in his mind as if something kept whispering it over and over again.

~*~

The screeching started in the middle of the night in such intensity that Arthur thought he would go deaf in a matter of seconds, instead his head started pounding with how unbearable it was. He couldn't think properly and started to act solely on instinct, stumbling out of his chambers and towards those of his daughters. Guards in the hallways were on their knees holding their hands over their ears and somewhere in a recess of his mind that was still able to form clear thoughts he was convinced that someone was storming the castle. He had to get to his daughters. Merlin was behind him, he knew that much, on his way to collect Gawain most likely. Possibly the two warlocks could do something about the noise.

Isabella and Rhain were huddled together in Isabella's bedchamber, holding hands over their ears but signalled that they were okay, other than the noise. It was only when the two other men joined them that Arthur noticed the smoke in the courtyard but no obvious fire. They could only communicate in gestures, eyes and faces so when Merlin stepped up next to him with pain-crunched face and looked at the black smoke that seemed to be billowing everywhere, the extra crease in his forehead didn't bode too well. Turning the warlock to him with insistent hands, the King pointed at his ears and shrugged, 'can you do anything?' but Merlin just shook his head 'no' and made a gesture at his own ears and at the smoke and waved his hands around, shrugged 'it's magical, I don't know'.

Arthur knew his eyes went big as winecups but there was no _time_ for him to be shocked. He turned to Gawain, made a wide sweeping gesture around the room and his daughters, making the young man frown first, then nod, yes he could put up a shield. Dragging Merlin bodily out of Isabella's room, he would have to trust in the boy to keep safe what was important to Arthur the father while the King took care of his castle. They were just down the stairs of the family wing when Merlin put his weight into holding him back and while that normally would have done nothing to slow him down, their communication depended on being able to see each other so he stopped. He hadn't expected for Merlin to cover both his ears with his hands and lean their foreheads together, face creased in concentration and pain but suddenly the screeching stopped and Arthur's ears were ringing with the silence.

“What?” he said and caught Merlin with one arm before the other man could sag to the floor, panting with exhaustion.

“Sorry,” the warlock answered and pulled himself up again, “took me a minute to figure out what this was. We're the only ones not hearing it, so hurry.” He dragged himself forward again, found his footing and started running.

“Merlin!” Arthur caught up easily. “What do you mean we're the only ones?”

“Everyone else is still hearing it, I need to get outside to-” he coughed and they barrelled through the doors to the smoke-filled courtyard together where there were already people gathered who were holding their heads in pain, coughing wildly. Merlin opened his mouth again, possibly to explain further, when the castle literally shook with what felt like an impact against the outer walls and white chips of something landed in front of their feet. The warlock threw him a wild look and obviously decided there was no time to explain for he just left him standing there and stormed to a free spot were no one had gone to their knees.

“Merlin!”

“Stay back, Arthur. And I mean it!” Merlin's shoulder's heaved with what seemed like deep breaths and then he let out a stream of words that made no sense to Arthur, in a volume that he wouldn't have expected from him, not interrupting himself by coughing as he probably wanted to.

Then it was gone. The smoke gone, the noise too, it seemed, for the people started to get up again, looking around them in confusion, the knights were gathering around them and Merlin, too, dragged himself back to the stairs. “You okay?” the King asked quietly and received an exhausted nod in response. He hadn't ever seen Merlin exhausted from using his magic, at least not like this. The white chips caught his eye again and he bent to retrieve one before it could be trampled by all the people milling about. It was extremely cold and vanished in his hand. Ice. In May. “It's all right, everyone!” he called. “We know something happened and it's gone now, the warlock has taken care of it! Go back to bed, get some more rest, I will announce any actions we might take in response later today!”

“Merlin!” a voice called and Arthur saw Gwydion bound up to the warlock and discuss something frantically but the King didn't have time to listen in, dozens of people were still trying to talk to him.

It took an hour to get everyone settled and the children convinced to get some more sleep as well, until Arthur retired to his own chambers and signalled for Merlin to follow him. “What _was_ that?”

“Magic,” Merlin answered and let himself fall heavily into a chair. “I don't know what hit the castle yet, but the smoke and the noise? That was magic.”

“Ice,” Arthur answered and rubbed his eyes and Merlin thankfully didn't question how he knew.

“Neat. That way the debris will be gone by morning and we'd be left to wonder what happened,” he was silent for a moment. “Gwydion thinks it's Mordred. And I'm tempted to agree with him.”

“Mordred! That little boy!” the King wanted to laugh but the matter was really no laughing one.

“Boys grow up, Arthur. Mordred killed a lot of people a couple of years ago, the order of the druids is practically nonexistent these days,” his friend held his eyes and nodded at the unspoken question of Gwydion. “I've tasted this magic before this...darkness. I'm sure back then that was Mordred too.”

The King couldn't help but smile. “Magic comes in flavours these days?”

“Taint stains magic as much as it does the character, your majesty.” Merlin didn't look good, rings under his eyes, the white bloodshot. “I'm sure it's Mordred.”

“Is he stronger than you? You look like you can't take much more.” It wasn't the right question to ask and his tone was too hard, too harsh but there was no way around it. There was no way he would be able to keep Merlin out of the loop when it came to battle but he had to know if the man could turn out to be a liability.

And Merlin understood, he could see it in the gaze when it held his. “No.” He was sure. “Not if he doesn't have a lot more to offer than what he showed tonight. This,” he pointed at his eyes, “is from inhaling sulphur all day.”

Arthur nodded, mulled that over for a while. “How do I defeat a warlock? Without putting the ban against magic in place again, preferably.”

“I don't know if defeating a warlock is your biggest problem, Arthur.”

“What do you mean?”

The man sighed. “Do you have a way to have your...spies keep an eye out for something specific?”

~*~

“Arthur it is no shame to ask for help from your _allies_!” Merlin yelled so loud that the King was sure the whole castle must have heard him.

Turning around furiously, he snatched Merlin's tunic and drew him close. “Would you keep your voice _down_ a few notches? This is not a discussion we should be having in the first place.” He pushed the other man away and busied himself with shoving papers around on the table. “There's enough of us.”

“You're up against a good part of your own kingdom and a sorcerer about whose power we don't know a lot, do you really think you should not take any precaution you can?” Merlin said a little gentler. “And especially since there are at least two people who you trust in Brittany.”

“Trusted, Merlin. Lancelot is loyal to Hywel and Joseph first, don't forget that. And it's been how many years since he fought for us? That man _is_ getting older.”

“And you just refused to take his son on because your pride is in the way,” the warlock leaned against the table and looked at him intently. Sometimes it truly was a curse that they knew each other so well.

“The boy wasn't old enough to be-”

“-knighted, yes. But he's old enough now and has been for a while. He's been in Albion for two years, did you know?” The look on his face could only be called smug, when Arthur narrowed his eyes on him. “I have my sources,” the warlock smiled. “You have called your banners, Arthur. Now it's time to call your allies as well, that is the _purpose_ of having allies, of having help and giving help in times of crisis. And this is a time of crisis.” That much he certainly couldn't deny in any way as he exhaled noisily and looked at the warlock.

“This is more than a time of crisis, Merlin. And you damn well know it.” Biting his lip, Merlin nodded. There was too much going on, not only the stewing second revolt during a single King's reign, that was only the imminent danger. Young men had stopped coming in streams to Camelot, although there was no shortage of knights; there was much going on in the kingdom, times changed, even magic seemed to be on the downfall once again. He sighed and drew a piece of parchment towards him. “Let the wind carry it?” And Merlin nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Custennin is the Welsh version of the name Constantine. Legend...has a Sir Constantine, too.  
> Arthur is still being stubborn, did you expect anything else? On so many levels. But you can't expect him to ask for help...or to give his oldest daughter away just like that. As for the dancing, who would have been Merlin's dancing partner I leave up to your imagination.


	24. Chapter 24

Merlin drew the tent flap back and ducked inside, bringing the smells of the night with him. If Arthur had been tasked to judge his mood at that moment he would have said the warlock looked miffed as he sat down to watch the King whet his sword. “I hate lying.”

“And yet you do it all the time,” Arthur smiled and was well aware of the icy look he got in response. Merlin was a shite liar when he did it casually or even tried. He only ever managed to keep secrets; too well, in Arthur's opinion. “What did you say and to whom?”

Another log landed in the fire without anyone having touched it. “Lancelot asked if you were sleeping all right and I assured him you were dropping like a stone every night when I _know_ you only get four hours in. Tops.”

“I heard old men don't need as much sleep,” Arthur mused as he inspected the gleaming edge of his weapon. He didn't expect to sleep at all this night, knew that Merlin felt it, too, the familiar anticipation that seeped into his very being before a fight. And thankfully, the warlock didn't give him some platitude like that they weren't old. “I gave Isabella my blessings before we left.”

“That's good. Will give her something to do besides being mad at you for not taking her.”

They were quiet for about an hour, until Arthur had finished with his sword, had checked his armour, and was ready to repeat the routine.

Merlin's fist suddenly hit the map table with force and when his friend looked up he saw the warlock's lips pressed together. “Merlin.”

“Where do I start?” The smile was a little sad, a little stubborn and laced with self-loathing. The King blinked.

“What do you mean?” he put the weapon's belt down again and leaned his chin onto his folded hands.

It was a long moment but the warlock finally seemed to have found a way to convey his thoughts. “Do you remember what I told you...about why your father banned magic in the first place?”

As if he was like to forget that. “My mother,” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Uther had played with fire and had been burned so badly that it almost had consumed him as well, Arthur himself had possibly been the one thing that had kept the King anchored and only led him to want to burn every single sorcerer in the kingdom instead. When he opened his eyes again Merlin nodded and regarded him patiently.

“I only have the drafts for the letters Gaius never finished. With Nimueh dead, I guess if not for those no one would ever have known.” Those drafts... Arthur was convinced to this day that the old court physician had wanted his young charge to know, why else would he even start to write letters on that matter?

The King tilted his head. “You never told me how you knew her name in the first place.”

“I killed her,” his friend answered levelly, not averting his eyes. Arthur didn't know if she had been the first person Merlin had ever killed but if so, she was just the first in a long row, and most of them had died either at Arthur's command or for his safety so that was probably a moot point either way. “I still can't tell you who she really was. What I know I already told you.” Sorceress to the Pendragon line. Confidant of Uther, until Igraine's death, then exiled from court. Arthur was almost sure his mother had known the stakes and still decided to do it, that Uther had just been too blind in his rage and grief to see it; their son knew, one way or other: a life given always meant a life taken. He was glad that Merlin wasn't willing to conduct such trades.

“So why are you bringing it up now, of all times?” Sometimes he wondered at what was going on in the warlock's head.

“It seems to be the keystone of everything that is happening here,” Merlin sighed and leaned back in the chair. Earlier he had said he recognised the place, it was where Morgana said Arthur would die. His response had been to tell his warlock very clearly that he didn't give a rat's arse about what Morgana _thought_ she saw or what a dragon said who allegedly died more than twenty years ago. And he didn't. There was no point, really, to fret about prophecy now, they would fight one way or other. The outcome would be clear soon enough.

“And you're moaning over milk spilled a lifetime ago because...?”

Merlin was silent for a long moment, seemed to gather his thoughts. “Did you know that people have begun to notice you're not getting any older? There's talk and not just a little.”

“No,” Arthur blinked. Of course, they would be hushed discussions in the servants' quarters, careful that no one overheard it. That's how rumours spread, after all. “Are you saying that's the consequence of my father using magic to...facilitate my life?”

The warlock's mouth twitched but he held his laughter in check. “Actually, I think you brought this one upon yourself.” When Arthur just stared blankly at him he gestured at the both of them. “Gwyllgi-”

Arthur clenched his jaw and pressed out, “Merlin, you know-”

“-we don't talk about this. I know. And I'm not asking. All I'm saying is, there are things neither of us took into regard when we rode into that forest, things we didn't know. I think whatever happened, whatever you did, it somehow...” He trailed off, frowning.

“Out with it now, Merlin,” Arthur rubbed his eyes and got up to snatch a coat. It was cold in the tent, despite the braziers set up; winter had come early this year, although at least they'd had most of the summer to prepare.

“It sounds stupid when I say it in my head. I've heard it so often, 'joint destiny' and 'two sides of the same coin' but...” Merlin took a breath and let it out slowly. “Arthur, I think you somehow linked your life with mine on a level that I cannot grasp even with my magic.”

The King wanted to laugh. Loud and bellowing and he wanted to slap his friend on the back and tell him what a good joke he made. But his laughter got stuck in his throat because he heard the truth in the other man's words. “And how, if I may inquire, should that have happened? How did you deduct that nonsense in the first place?” It was an attempt, at least, to negate it. He just needed to find a hole in that out-of-the-blue explanation.

But Merlin only shrugged. “You stopped ageing then, far as I can still remember. Damn it, Arthur, I woke up in a pool of blood after we set off to pursue the black hound of destiny, what else am I to think? And with me like this-”

“Like _what_? It feels like you're not telling me everything that I should know to understand what you're saying, Merlin!” Arthur had turned around and was now facing him with an angry expression and his eyes blazing. Merlin knew something had happened that night, something must have, if his friend refused to speak of it so vehemently.

“Emrys,” he said very quietly and the look on Arthur's face relaxed a little, was replaced with puzzlement.

“I thought you'd had that figured out. Ambrosius, was it?”

The warlock nodded, looked his friend in the eye. “Yes. But not just. Arthur... Emrys is the word for 'immortal' in the language of the druids.” He had to let that sit for a moment. He remembered when Gwydion had told him, all innocent eyes, and how his own mind had reeled at this. He knew he himself could be killed. Or at least he suspected it, considering his various close brushes with death when campaigning with Arthur and Eldrik telling him he was only still alive because the King had ordered him carried off the battlefield or rushed him to the physician himself.

“You mean,” Arthur let himself fall into his chair again. “You can't mean.”

“You're not that daft, Arthur. I mean,” he answered gently and watched as things fell into place behind his friend's eyes. “I never thought the dragon was quite this literally about it but.” He shrugged. There wasn't much to say.

“And me, too.” It was a statement but might have been a question, so Merlin nodded. “That is...disastrous.” And Merlin had to agree again.

“An immortal King is the stuff of legends, in reality it doesn't make for good politics,” he stated and watched as Arthur raked a hand through his hair. He had been thinking about this for a while but he knew that his friend wouldn't like any of the solution he had come up with. “Then again, it spares me the work of trying to come up with the impossible.”

Arthur blinked at him. “You are speaking in tongues again.”

A sigh escaped Merlin and he shrugged. “Look. I couldn't have let you die. You're...the protector of this kingdom, you have unified the south of the island, you have connected it with the mainland by treaty. You will be known a thousand or two thousand years from now for that. Even though you're a prat,” he winked. What he didn't let on were his very selfish motives, because he couldn't imagine a world without Arthur in it, he couldn't imagine serving Isabella as he had her father and that his own life would be null and void should the man die.

But Arthur wasn't up for jests that night. “Merlin, do you know how many men will die out there tomorrow? How many men I won't be able to protect, how many people already died over the years for no good reason? Great unifier I am, when I can't even keep my own nobles from revolting.”

“But that's Mordred's fault, that's not caused by bad regency!”

“And where will be the difference, a generation from now?” The King was pacing again. “Really, how would you have done it? Keep me alive old and frail and tell people what?” Merlin had to admit, his friend had a point. But.

“I would have found a way,” he said and knew it sounded somewhat petulant. “And anyway, that's no concern now anymore!”

“No, now it's the opposite problem, isn't it? If people are truly talking already, there needs to be a solution, and fast.” He was pacing the length of the tent, grumbling under his breath.

“You could just walk away,” Merlin suggested meekly and started playing with a knife that lay on the table.

The look Arthur threw his way could only be described as murderous. “I have an army to lead, I can't just walk away and leave them to fend for themselves. You know me better than to seriously suggest something like that.”

“I do,” the warlock made a soothing gesture with his hand. “I didn't mean you were to walk out now and never look back.”

“And what is it you're suggesting? There is so much left to do! I didn't get to do everything I needed to do!” He raked his hand through hair once more and then stood with crossed arms facing one of the braziers.

“That is the lament of all men, Arthur,” Merlin answered, ignoring the first question for the moment while he was trying to figure it out.

The man turned towards him again, eyes narrowed. “That doesn't sound like something you would say.”

“Gaius said it,” Merlin answered with a smile. “One of the many times I thought you dead. Or almost, at least.” He blinked. “Actually. I guess Morgana's vision is going to come true after all.”

Arthur was at him within seconds and pulled him up by the collar of his tunic. “Whatever do you mean?” he hissed and it sounded dangerous. Considering Merlin had just suggested regicide, it was probably justified, too.

“I mean,” Merlin murmured and slowly unpeeled his friends' fingers from his clothes, “that tomorrow you will step onto that battlefield and at the end of the day you will be dead, as far as everyone will be concerned.” And he was sure Arthur would have had him executed right there and then for treason hadn't they known each other so well, hadn't he known that Merlin would never actually do him harm.

“I can't die, Merlin, real or otherwise. I have an army to lead. I have an unclear succession.” It was said in a near whisper, quiet enough so it wouldn't carry outside, like conspirators who were planning a coup.

“I thought you'd given Isabella your blessings?” The King nodded in answer. “Then we only need to keep the boy alive and your succession isn't in danger. Your daughter is very capable of ruling.” He knew all the objections; they were too young (even though Arthur had been younger than Sir Custennin when he had assumed the throne), all of them, it was too sudden, too fast (but death in battle was always sudden and fast, but always expected), too much, they weren't prepared, none of them all (not true, for Merlin at least carried his most important possessions with him). But Merlin knew this was a chance that wouldn't present itself again anytime soon and he knew that Arthur knew. If they both survived tomorrow, and with Mordred and the size of the army he had brought with him that was a bit of an if, their lives would face a change. The kingdom of Albion would change if they lived or not.

“So you just expect me to go out there tomorrow and...,” the look in his eyes turned hard. “And die.” He didn’t even wait for a confirming nod but turned away to kick hard against the map table. “Do you have any idea of what you’re saying?”

Taking a breath, the warlock bit his lip. “I’m suggesting you walk away from your responsibility as the King, from your responsibility as the leader of your army and also every single thing you’ve ever known. I realise that, Arthur, but-”

There was no finishing that sentence though. “You actually have something to justify that with?” the King roared and everyone at camp would have heard that but he modulated his voice down after the initial outburst. “Merlin, I have daughters who need to be prepared for something as drastic as this, I have no idea if that preposterous swine will be any good at what he’s supposed to do!” Merlin didn’t see the problem with that though, because Custennin was not supposed to _do_ anything but sit in his seat and look all proper while letting Isabella run matters of state and lead the wars; a lesser man might have been called a puppet.

Arthur was still fuming, muttering to himself about what all there was to take care of before he could ever consider leaving the throne to anyone else, throwing icy glances at his friend, while the warlock just stood by and watched the spectacle. “Are you quite finished?” he finally asked after there hadn’t been any sign of the other man relaxing. Another glare was the only answer. “Look. Arthur, stop running around in circles and listen to me for a moment!” When his friend still wouldn’t do as he was told Merlin let out a sigh of frustration and simply made the man stop; he might be inferior to the man’s physique but not even Arthur could break magic bonds.

“Let me go! Merlin, I mean it, let me go or-”

“Or what?” Merlin felt close to snapping himself. All he was doing was trying to keep the man _alive_, didn’t he see that? “Want to kill me with that sword of yours? I’ve been threatened by you with that thing what, three times now? I’m really getting sick of it.” He took one deep breath but raised his hand as he saw that the other man wanted to respond. “No one will be served if you return to Camelot a week from now or a month from now only for someone to assassinate you within the year for whatever convoluted reason he can come up with! People _are_ talking and they have been for a while. This is an opportunity, an out, that will not present itself again for a good long while, if ever. Your daughter can handle the kingdom far better with you dying in battle than with you being killed at court.” He could see understanding and reason flaring up in his friend’s eyes but also knew that Arthur’s natural stubbornness would not allow him to give in so easily. Still, Merlin released the magic that held the King, knowing well that he could really put to death for tying up the _King_ but he’d been risking execution ever since he’d come to Camelot, what was one more occasion?

Instead of going for his sword though, Arthur just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. “I cannot die, Merlin.”

“And if I don’t leave you a choice? Don’t forget I have a certain set of skills at my disposal that you won’t ever have a fighting chance of matching.” He was dangerously close to threatening his own sovereign and most everyone else would have probably been accused of treason or plotting against the King by now. The only thing that likely saved him was the fact that he was right and they both knew it.

Blue eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t...”

“Try me.” He returned the gaze with all the composure he could muster, tried to express exactly how serious he was about the matter.

The King finally looked away. It wasn’t faltering, it wasn’t an admission to being wrong but Merlin recognised it nonetheless for the man letting him do this. It was a permission he didn’t need because there had only been one possible outcome since the moment Arthur realised the truth; it was still easier with the man accepting a necessary step than having been forced on the way.

Merlin stepped up to his friend, who had turned and gone back to pacing, so that he could see his profile and put a hand on his shoulder. “I'll prepare everything.” Arthur nodded once, jaw set, eyes hard and Merlin looked back once before opening the flap. His friend was stubborn, strong willed; he would survive the battle and who knew what else would be thrown at the in the coming years. There would be a lot of sulking, Merlin knew and couldn't suppress a grin, until the big prat came to terms.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Arthur turned around, forehead creased but a small smile appeared on his face. Merlin had a sudden impression of them, several years in the future, sitting in a carriage of shining material that wasn't drawn by horses and his friend lecturing him on some code of conduct and rolled his eyes; had he lost his sanity considering truly spending _eternity_ with Arthur Pendragon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Constantine of legend was the one who Arthur bestowed the kingdom on upon his death, since he had no heirs. Male heirs, in my case.


	25. Epilogue

“And?” Sheol inquired as the dragon fell silent just before the battle of Camlann started, in and by itself the climax of the Arthurian Legend. In a way. If one left the whole ridiculous Grail-search out of the picture.

The big beast just blinked its black eyes at her. “As I pointed out to Merlin so long ago, my knowledge about his life is not absolute.”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me. You can repeat fricking _dialogue_!” She got up and dusted herself off. Seriously, that...thing couldn't just leave her hanging like that.

The dragon cocked his head. “If you want to know the rest of the story you need to free me. That's my one condition, my request. Free me and I will tell you the rest of the story. Everything.”

She narrowed his eyes at him, then regarded the iron shackle and chain at his feet. “Forget it,” she turned around and made for the lower gate. She wondered if the sun was up already, how many hours had passed since the big beast had started to sketch out an alternative to the Legend of King Arthur as it was commonly known. Hearing the dragon draw breath and suddenly smelling sulphur in the air she turned around hastily and made a cut-off movement with one hand. “Stop!” she thundered and then her voice modulated down immediately. “You probably had ample opportunity to lure others down here, those who could hear you call. I suppose Merlin had good reasons for assuming you dead. And I'm not going to be responsible for a mistake of unforeseen dimensions.”

Black eyes blinked at her again, in surprise this time. “You are more than I expected at first, after all. No one ever heard me since then. Gawain was the last of the born sorcerers this land has seen, magic practically extinct since then. And he couldn't hear me. And the clowns who are claiming kinship with the Old Religion these days are nothing but playacts compared to Merlin and my own kind. I don't know what you are. Different, in any case.”

“Which is why you thought I would free you if you told me a story of magic,” she concluded and a frown crept onto her face.

“I can't have been wrong,” he insisted and thrust his long neck forward towards her, so his head was close to her face. His breath didn't hold the odour of sulphur anymore so she was probably not in danger of being roasted alive.

Raising a hand to put on his snout as she usually did with horses, she sighed. “I'm not what you see in me. I couldn't free you even if I wanted to. This world has changed considerably since King Uther imprisoned you down here, I'm not even going to try and explain.” She removed her hand stepped towards the gate again. “Thank you for telling me that story. It was interesting,” she smiled.

“Sheol!” he called after her, perching even more on the edge of the stone protrusion to get his head closer. “Will you follow your destiny?”

She laughed then. Loud and long and didn't care how much it rang in her ears. “Yes. And no. I have an idea of how to...aid a ruler, now. But I'll live my life out and I will not fail at what I set out to do. Goodbye, dragon.” And she ascended the stairs again, stepping out into the crisp night air, she could see the first shimmer of dawn on the eastern horizon already. There was no point going back to sleep so she packed up her things and went over to Sonnet, turned him loose to feed off the fresh green grass drenched in dew to get an early start into her day.

Neither she nor Daniel made it within three months and they called a truce. They had severely underestimated distances during their drunken bet; Sheol had realised that already while listening to the dragon's story and Arthur and Merlin's adventures and thought she might have to either amp up the speed or lengthen the time. Since neither was an option, they decided to stable the horses somewhere and meet up. She eventually made him accompany her to several sites and she was sure he was thinking her mad for suddenly conducting 'historic research' on such a low level when she was about to be a historian by trade and even had a project just _waiting_ for her.

The result of their travels was published few years later under a pen name; an alternative take on the Arthurian Legend which did cause some disturbances among so called 'experts', Arthurian scholars, because of a ban on magic that, according to them, had never happened, because Merlin was younger than Arthur, because there was no Excalibur, no Lancelot, because Guinevere was a maid and Morgana not Arthur's sister and Mordred not his son and worst of all, in her version the King didn't age or die but lived on, his death an illusion and his travel to Avalon a carefully constructed performance put on by Merlin. Sheol didn't care what they said, the true story was out there now and that was what was important to her. She had done what all others before her had failed at by telling it, she had 'aided royalty' in her own way and hoped that satisfied the matter of 'destiny' and she could do what she wanted with the rest of her life.

Several sequels followed that first book; Merlin and Arthur's adventures after Camlann, their presence and prowess as the turning point in the siege of Vienna, travelling the world at large and their interference in other historical incidences; Morgana's transition from Queen in Camelot to the infamous Morgan La Fey, first in her adventures after leaving her court and then later in the eyes of history. All those books and especially the very first were ridiculously popular and she wondered at the number of sales herself; it was an old story after all, even if it wore a new guise now, it had been told and retold countless of times already. But she enjoyed writing them, she enjoyed imagining what trouble and adventures a warlock and his former King might get themselves into while she herself was digging in the dirt and trying to piece together secrets so long buried that they probably had been ancient when Arthur's Roman ancestors marched across Europe.

The most mortifying, and possibly most amusing, moment of her authorship however was when she emerged from her mud bath of a site one rainy day and found two men, a dark haired young guy and a straw blond man, standing next to her tent, holding horses by their reins. “So you're the one crediting us with all these great deeds,” the older man smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.

-FIN-


End file.
